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t^ ESTABLISHED 1875. 
V^fOftGETON"^'^-^"''' 




THE HAUN'r.KD H01)S>: 




'Ml S S Ji 1 L M ATM ,S h; CC, 



T'K Arils' 






TIIE 



COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS 



OF 



THOMAS HOOD. 



IN THREE VOLUMES. 
VOL. I. 



KEW YORK: 
G. P. PUTNAM'S SOXS, 

FouRiH Atkxuk and 2od Street. 
1873. 



EutareJ according to Act of Cougreaa, in the year 1862, oy 

E P E S SARGENT, 

tea Ihi Oicrk s Ofiit-e of the District Court of the Diftrict of Massachusett*, 



S» G. PUBLIC LIBftaSi 
SEPT. XO, 1940 



PEE F A C E. 



The present edition of the Poetical Works of Thomas 
Hood is by far the most complete that has yet appeared, and 
will ba followed by a collection of his Prose Works in a simi- 
lar style. Though very many poems have been here brouo-ht 
together from sources overlooked by his former editors, noth- 
ing has been admitted that will detract from the fame of one 
whom a critic of kindred but severer genius describes as 
"the delightful humorist,"' who in society was "so grave, 
and sad, and silent, that you were astonished to recognize in 
him the outpourer of a thousand wild fancies, the detector 
of the inmost springs of pathos, and the powerful vindi- 
cator of poverty and toil before the hearts of the pros- 
perous." 

The reputation of HoOD as a poet and humorist has in- 
creased with every year since his decease. As a humorous 
poet, indeed, there is no one similar or second to him. This 
IS the judgment of a circle of readers daily enlarging, and 



iv PREFACE. 

as various as mankind. There is nothing in the language 
more touching than his pathos, more genial than his humor, 
more polished and keen than his satire. For twenty years he 
lavished this satire, humor and pathos with a prodigality that 
knew no bounds^ and for this very prodigality the world un- 
dervalued till it had lost him. Popular as he was in his 
latter years, in his life- time he was but half appreciated, 
and it is only since his death that he has challenged his po- 
sition in the foremost line of the world's humorists. 



CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. 



PAax 
LIFE OF I»O0D xui 

POEMS 

Lays of I^uhanity. 

The Lay of the Laborer 3 

The Brulge of Sighs 27 

The B>o\)g of the Shirt 31 

The Latiy"s Dream , 34 

The Workhouse Clock 38 

Herc and Leander 43 

Lycus, the Centaur 73 

The Two Peacocks ok Bedfont 87 

The Two Swans 94 

The Dream of Eugene Aram 104 

The Elm-Tkee : a Dream in the Woods , . . 112 

The Haunted House 129 

GuiDO AND Marina : a Dramatic Sketch 143 

Stanzas to Tom Woodgate, of Hastings 148 

The Mary : a Seaside Sketch 153 

Miscellaneous. 

Fair Ines I59 

To Hope '. 161 

To my Wife 163 

To Celia 164 

The Departure of Summer 165 

Ode : Autumn 170 

SoDi^, for Music 172 

Ballad. , 172 

Hymn to the Sun 173 

To a Cold Beauty 174 

Ruth . . -, 175 



CONTENTS. 

PAQB 

The Sea of Death 176 

Autumn , 1T7 

Ballad 177 

I Remei^iber, I Remember 178 

Ballad 179 

The Water Lady ISl 

The Exile 182 

To au Absentee ...» 183 

Song 183 

Ode to the Moon 184 

To 187 

The Forsaken 18S 

Autumn 18ft. 

Ode to Melancholy lti» 

Sonnets. 

Written in a Volume of Shakspeare 19^5 

To Fancy Iy4 

'Jo an Enthusiast 19-i 

" It is not death, that sometime in a sigh " 195 

" By ever^'- sweet tradition of true hearts " 195 

0:i Receiving a Gift 19tf 

Silence 196 

" The curse of Adam, the old curse of all " 197 

" Ix)ve, dearest lady, such as I would speak " 197 

*' The Last Man " 198 

The Lee Shore 205 

The Death-Bed 20G 

Lines on seeing my Wife and two Children sleeping in the s.ame 

Chamber 207 

To my Daughter, on her Birthday 207 

To a Child embracing his Mother 208 

Stanzas 209 

To a False Friend 210 

The Poet's Portion 210 

Song 211 

Time, Hope, and Memory 212 

Flowers 213 

To 214 

To 214 

To , 215 

Serenade 216 

Verses m an Album . 216 

Ballad . . , . 217 



CONTENTS. 



The Romance of Cologne 'g" 

The Kev: a Moorish Romance oiq 

Sonnets. ' '^^^ 

To the Ocean _ , 

L,ear 

225 

Sonnet to a Sonnet ,.£,_ 

False Poets and True non 

^^0 ^'^^^^i^'"''^^! !!!!!!!!!!! 2^6 

For the Fourteenth of February 2-:>7 

To a Sleeping Child 207 

To a Sleeping Child 2oa 

. " The world is with me, and its many cares " 228 

Humorous. 

Miss Kilmansegg and her Precious Leg 231 

A Morning Thought ' ong 

A Tale of a Trumpet on-r 

No!.... "*"' 

332 

The Irish Schoolmaster ooo 

T-- •••..... ^ Ooo 

x«pigrams. 

On the Art- Unions ^,^ 

The Superiorit3' of Machinery | ' ' g^-j^ 

The Forge : a Romance of tlie Iron Age * " 342 

To : Composed at Rotterdam !'.'.' 357 

The Season „._ 

T 3o8 

I'Ove ^.g 

Faithless Sally Brown org 

Bianca's Dream o^i 

^ , ,^, obi 

Oyer the AVay o-a 

Ji-picurean Kemmiscences of a Sentimentalist 374 

The Carelesse Nurse Mayd 3yg 

Ode to Perry, the Inventor of the Patent Perryan Pen ...'.'.' ' . . 377 

Number One 000 

Lines on the Celebration of Peace * , 335 

The Demon-Ship oog 

Spri ng 389 

Faithless Nelly Gray og-. 

The Flower " * oqo 

The Sea-Spell ' " ' ..g , 

A Sailor's Apology for Bow-Legs ^ 1 1 3g8 

The Bachelor's Dream ^qq 

The ^Vee Man .q.. 

Death's Ramble <a- 

n^, _, 4U0 

1 he Progress of Art ^qj 



CONTENTS. ' 

PAQB 

AFaiiyTale 410 

The Turtles 414 

The Desevt-Born 419 

Love Lane 427 

Domestic Poems. 

I. Hymeneal Retrospections 429 

11. " The sun was slumbering in the west, my daily labors past " . 430 

IIL A Parental Ode tomy Son 431 

I V. A Serenade 433 

A Plain Direction 434 

Equestrian Courtship 436 

An Open Question 437 

Morning Meditations 442 

A Black Job 444 

Ode to Rae Wilson, Esquire 451 

A Table of Errata 466 

A Row at the Oxford Arms 470 

Etching Moralized 475 

Ode, on a Distant Prospect of Clapham Academy 483 

A Retrospective Review 487 

Town and Country: An Ode 490 

Lament for the Decline of Chivalry . 493 

Domestic Asides ; or, Truth in Parentheses 496 



LIFE OF THOMAS HOOl). 



Thomas Hood was born in London in 1798. His father was a 
native of Scotland, and was for many years a partner in the firm of 
Vernor, Hood and Sharp, booksellers and publishers. Of his early 
life he has given the public an outline in his Literary Reminiscences, 
in which he tells us that when but twelve years of age he lost his 
father and elder brother, and became thenceforth the chief care of 
an aflfectionate and bereaved mother. From a brief memoir by Mrs. 
S. C. Hall we learn that he was remarkable for great vivacity of 
spirits, and prone to astonish good citizens, guests at his father's, no 
less than his fellow-pupils when at school, by the shrewdness and 
brilliancy of his observations upon topics of which it was thought 
he knew nothing. At a high school to which he was sent he picked 
up some Latin, became a tolerable English grammarian, and so good 
a French scholar that he earned a few guineas — his first literary 
fee — by revising for the press a new edition of " Paul et Yirginie." 
A friend of the family, however, proposed to initiate him into the 
profitable mysteries of commerce, and young Hood found himself 
planted on a counting-house stool, where he remained long enough, 
at least, to collect materials for a sonnet, in which he records his 
mercantile experiences. 

" Time was, I sat upon a lofty stool. 
At lofty desk, and with a clerkly pen 
Began each morning, at the stroke of ten. 
To write in Bell and Co.'s commercial school; 
In Warnford Court, a shady nook and cool. 



X LIFE OF HOOD. 

The favorite retreat of merchant men ; - 

Yet would my pen turn vagrant even then, 

And take stray dips in the Castalian pool. 

Now double entry — now a flowery trope — 

Mingling poetic honey with trade wax — 

Blogg, Brothers — Milton — Grote and Prescott — Pope — 

Bristles — and Hogg — Glyn Mills and Halifax — 

Rogers — and Towgood — Hemp — the Bard of Hope 

Barilla — Byron — Tallow — Burns — and Flax ? " 

ilia health failing, he was " shipped as per advice, in a Scofcch 
smack," to his father's relations in Dundee. There he made his first 
acquaintance with the press, an event of so much interest in the 
career of an author that no one can describe it but himself. Among 
the temporary sojourners in his boarding-house at Dundee was a 
legal antiquary, who had been sent for from Edinburgh to make 
some researches among the civic records. " It was my humor to 
think," says Hood, " that, in Political as well as Domestic Economy, 
it must be better to sweep the Present than to dust the Past ; and 
certain new brooms were recommended to the Town Council in a 
quizzing letter, which the then editor of the Dundee Advertiser or 
Chronicle thought fit to favor with a prominent place in his columns. 
* 'Tis pleasant sure,' sings Lord Byron, ' to see one's self in print;' 
and according to the popular notion I ought to have been quite up 
in my stirrups, if not standing on the saddle, at thus seeing myself, 
for the first strange time, set up in type. Memory recalls, however, 
but a very moderate share of exaltation, which was totally eclipsed, 
moreover, by the exuberant transports of an accessory before the 
fact, whom, methinks, I still see in my mind's eye, rushing out of 
the printing-office with the wet sheet steaming in his hand, and flut- 
tering all along the High Street, to announce breathlessly that ' we 
were in.' But G. was an indifferent scholar, even in English, and 
therefore thought the more highly of this literary feat. 

*' The reception of my letter in the Dundee newspaper encouraged 
me to forward a contribution to the Dundee Magazine, the editor 
of which was kind enough, as Winifred Jenkins says, to ' wrap my 
bit of nonsense under his Honor's Baver,' without charging anything 
for its insertion. Here was success sufiicient to turn a young author 
at once into ' a scribbling miller,' and make him sell himself, body 



LIFE OF HOOD. xi 

and soul, after the German fashion, to that minor Mephistophilca, 
the printer's devil ! Nevertheless, it was not till years afterward?, 
and the lapse of a term equal to an ordinary apprenticeship, that 
the Imp in question became really my Familiar. In the mean time 
I continued to compose occasionally, and, like the literary |)erform- 
ances of Mr. Weller senior, my lucubrations were generally commit- 
ted to paper, not in what is commonly called written hand, but an 
imitation of print. Such a course hints suspiciously of type and 
antitype, and a longing eye to the Row ; wliereas it was adopted 
simply to make the reading more easy, and thus enable me the more 
readily to form a judgment of the effect of my little efforts. It is 
more difficult than may be supposed to decide on the value of a work 
in ]\IS., and especially when the hand- writing presents only a swell 
mob of bad characters, that must be severally examined and re- 
examined to arrive at the merits or demerits of the case. Print set- 
tles it, as Coleridge used to say : and, to be candid, I have more than 
once reversed, or greatly modified, a previous verdict, on seeing a 
rough proof from the press. 

" My mental constitution, however weak my physical one, was 
proof against that type-us fever which parches most scribblers till 
they are set up, done up, and maybe cut up, in print and boards. 
Perhaps I had read and trembled at the melancholy annals of those 
unfortunates, AAdio, rashly undertaking to write for bread, had poi- 
soned themselves, like Chatterton, for want of it, or choked them- 
selves, like Otway, on obtaining it. Possibly, having learned to 
think humbly of m3rself, — there is nothing like early sickness and 
sorrow for ' taking the conceit ' out of one, -^-my vanity did not pre- 
sume to think, with certain juvenile Tracticians, that 1 ' had a call ' 
to hold Ibrth in print for the edification of mankind. Perchance, 
the very deep reverence my reading had led me to entertain for our 
bards and sages deterred me from thrusting myself into the fellow- 
ship of beings that seemed only a little lower tlian the angels. How- 
ever, in spite of ^.lat very common excuse for publication, ' the advice 
of a friend,' who seriously recommended the submitting of my MSS, 
to a literary authority, with a view to his imprimaiur, my slight 
acquaintance with the press was pushed no further." 

Hood resided two years at Dundee, when he returned to London, 
ind, manifesting a great talent for drawing, was apprenticed to his 



xii LIFE OF H001>, 

> 

uaele, Mr. Robert Sands, an engraver. He was afterwards with one 
of the Le Keux in the same pursuit ; but, though working m aqua 
forlis, as he tells us, he still played with Castaly, now writing — all 
monkeys are imitators, and all young authors are monkeys — now 
writing a Bandit to match the Corsair, and now hatching a Lalla 
Crow by way of companion to Lalla Rookh. We recur to his own 
Reminiscences : 

" In the mean time, while thus playing with literature, an event 
was ripening which was to introduce me to authorship in earnest, and 
make the muse, with whom I had only flirted, my companion for life, 
.... In the beginning of the year 1821 a memorable duel, originat- 
ing in a pen-and-ink quarrel, took place at Chalk Farm, and termi- 
nated in the death of Mr. John Scott, the able editor of the London 
Magazine. The melancholy result excited great interest, in which 1 
fully participated, little dreaming that his catastrophe involved any 
consequences of importance to myself. But, on the loss of its con- 
ductor, the periodical passed into other hands. The new proprietors 
were my friends; they sent for me, and, after some preliminaries, I 
was duly installed as a sort of sub-editor of the London Magazine. 

'" It would be affectation to say that engraving was resigned with 
regret. There is always something mechanical about the art ; more- 
over, it is as unwholesome as wearisome to sit copper-fastened to a 
board, with a cantle scooped out to accommodate your stomach, if 
you have one, painfully ruling, ruling, and still ruling lines straight 
or crooked by the long hundred to the square inch, at the doubly- 
hazardous risk, which AYordsworth so deprecates, of ' growing double.' 
So, farewell AYoollett ! Strange ! Bartolozzi ! I have said my vanity 
did not rashly plunge me into authorship ; but no sooner was there a 
legitimate opening than I jumped at it, a la Grimaldi, head foremost, 
and was speedily behind the scenes. 

" To judge by my zeal and delight in my new pursuit, the bowl 
had at last found its natural bias. Not content with taking arti- 
cles, like candidates for holy orders, — with rejecting articles, like the 
Belgians, — I dreamt articles, thought articles, wrote articles, which 
were all inserted by the editor, of course with the concurrence of hig 
deputy. The more irksome parts of authorship, such as the correc- 
tion of the press, were to me labors of love. I received a revise from 
Mr. Baldwin's Mr. Parker, as if it had been a proof of his regar«j 



LIFE OF ROOD. xlil 

foTgave him all his slips, and really thought that printers' devils were 
not so black as they are painted. But my top-gaUant glory was in 
' our contributors ' ! IIow I used to look forward to Elia ! and bac^k- 
ward for Hazlitt, and all round for Edward Herbert, and how 1 used 
to look vp to Allan Cunningham ! for at that time the London had a 
goodly list of writers — a rare company. It is now defunct; and 
perhaps no ex-periodical might so appropriately be apostrophized 
with the Irish funereal question, ' Arrah, honey, why did you die? ' 
Had not you an editor, and elegant prose writers, and beautiful 
poets, and broths of boys for criticism and classics, and wits and 
humorists — Elia, Gary, Procter, Cunningham, Bowring, Barton, 
llazlitt, Elton, Hartley Coleridge, Talfourd, Soane, Horace Smith, 
Reynolds, Poole, Clare, and Thomas Benyon, with a power besides? 
Hadn't you Lions' Heads with Traditional Tales? Hadn't you an 
Opium Eater, and a Dwarf, and a Giant, and a Learned Lamb, and 
a Green Man ? Had n't you a regular Drama, and a Musical Report, 
and a Report of Agriculture, and an Obituary, and a Price Current, 
and a current price, of only half-a-crown ? Arrah, why did you die ? 
Why, somehow, the contributors fell away, the concern went into 
other hands — worst of all, a new editor tried to put the belles-lettres 
in' utilitarian envelopes ; whereupon the circulation of the Miscel- 
lany, like that of poor LeFevre, got slower, slower, slower, and 
slower still — and then stopped forever ! It was a sorry scattering of 
those old Londoners ! Some went out of the country ; one (Clare) 
went into it. Lamb retreated to Colebrooke. j\Ir. Gary presented 
himself to the British Museum. Reynolds and Barry took to engross- 
ing when they should pen a stanza, and Thomas Benyon gave up 
literature. 

'*^ It is with mingled feelings of pride, pleasure and pain, that I 
revert to those old times, when the writers I had long known and 
admired inspirit were present to me in the flesh; when I had the 
delight of listening to their wit and wisdom from their own lips, of 
gazing on their faces, and grasping their right hands. Familiar fig- 
ures rise before me, familiar voices ring in my ears, and, alas ! 
amongst them are shapes that I must never see, sounds that I can 
never hear, again. Before my departure from England, I was one 
of the few who saw the grave close over the remains of one whom to 
know as a friend was to love as a relation. Never did a better soul 



XIV LIFE OP HOOD. 

go to a better world ! Never, perhaps (giving the lie direct to tht 
common imputation of envy, malice and hatred, amongst the brother* 
hood), never did an author descend — to quote his favorite Sir T, 
Browne — into ' the land of the mole and the pismire ' so hung with 
golden opinions, and honored and regretted with such sincere eulogies 
and elegies, by his contemporaries. To him, the first of these, my 
reminiscences, is eminently due, for I lost in him not only a dear and 
kind friend, but an invaluable critic, — one whom, were such literary 
adoptions in modern use, I might well name, as Cotton called Walton, 
my ' father.' 

" I was sitting, one morning, beside our editor, busily correcting 
proofs, when a visitor Avas announced, whose name, grumbled by a 
low, ventriloquial voice, like Tom Pipes calling from the hold thi-ough 
the hatchway, did not resound distinctly on my tympanum. How- 
ever, the door opened, and in came a stranger, a figure remarkable at 
a glance, with a fine head on a small, spare body, supported by two 
almost immaterial legs. He was clothed in sables, of a bygone 
fashion, but there was something wanting, or something present 
about him, that certified he was neither a divine, nor a physician, 
nor a schoolmaster ; from a certain neatness and sobriety in his 
dress, coupled with his sedate bearing, he might have been taken, but 
that such a costume would be anomalous, for a Quaker in black. 
He looked still more like (what he really was) a literary modern 
antique, a new-old author, a living anachronism, contemporary at 
once with Burton the elder and Colman the younger. INIeanwhile, 
he advanced with rather a peculiar gait, his walk was planti- 
grade, and, with a cheerful 'How d'ye,' and one of the blandest, 
sweetest smiles that ever brightened a manly countenance, held out 
two fingers to tiie editor. The two gentlemen in black soon fell into 
discourse ; and, whilst they conferred, the Lavater principle within 
me set to work upon the interesting specimen thus presented to its 
speculations. It was a striking, intellectual face, full of wiry lines, 
physiognomical quips and cranks, that gave it great character. 
There was much earnestness about the brows, and a deal of specula- 
tion in the eyes, which were brown and bright, and ' quick in turn- 
ing ; ' the nose, a decided one, though of no established order ; and 
there was a handsome smartness about the mouth. Altogether, it 
was no common face — none of those willoiv-pallcrn ones, which nature 



LIFE OF HOOD. XV 

turns out by thousands at her potteries ; — but more like a chancfi 
specimen of the Chinese ware, one to the sot — unique, antique, 
quaint. No one who had once seen it could pretend not to know it 
again. It was no face to lend its countenance to any confusion ol 
persons in a Comedy of Errors. You might have sworn to it piece- 
meal—a separate affidavit for every feature. In short, his face was 
as original as his figure ; his figure, as his character ; his character, 
as hia writings ; his writings, the most original of the age. After 
the literary business had been settled, the editor invited his con- 
tributor to dinner, adding, ' We shall have a hare — ' 

* And — and — and — and many friends ! * 

*' The hesitation in the speech, and the readiness of the allusion, 
were alike characteristic of the individual, whom his familiars wiU 
perchance have recognized already as the delightful essayist, the cap- 
ital critic, the pleasant wit and humorist, the delicate-minded and 
large-hearted Charles Lamb ! He was shy, like myself, with strang- 
ers •, so that, despite my yearnings, our first meeting scarcely amounted 
to an introduction. We were both at dinner, amongst the hare'a 
many f::iends ; but our acquaintance got no further, in spite of a 
desperate attempt on my part to attract his notice. His complaint 
of the Decay of Beggars presented another chance ; I wrote on coarse 
paper, and in ragged English, a letter of thanks to him, as if from 
one of his mendicant clients, but it produced no effect. I had given 
up all hope, when, one night, sitting sick and sad in my bed-room, 
racked with the rheumatism, the door was suddenly opened, the 
well-known quaint figure in black walked in without any formality, 
and, with a cheerful ' Well, boy, how are you? ' and the bland, sweet 
smile, extended the two fingers. They were eagerly clutched, of 
course, and from that hour we were firm friends." 

In 182G Hood made a collection of his contributions to the London 
Magazine, which, with some other pieces, was issued under the title 
of Whims and Oddities. His first book had been published anony- 
mously. It was styled Odes and Addresses to Great People, and was 
written in conjunction Avith his brother-in-law, Mr. J. H. Reynolds. 
This work had introduced Hood to the public as a humorist of no 
eommon power ; a reputation which had been increased by his produc- 
tions in the Magazine — a journal of which the Westmhister Rcvieu 



XVI LIFE OF HOOD. 

said, with great truth, that it was during its short life cleverly sup 
ported by a knot of men whom a too ardent love of the ancient and 
quaint and homely in literature, hurried into sundry faults of taste, 
which the sectarian influence of coterie intercourse confirmed into 
mannerism. 

Hood's National Tales appeared in 1827, and was followed by a 
volume containing The Plea of the Midsummer Fairies, Hero and 
Leander, Lycus the Centaur, and other poems. In 1829 he commenced 
the Comic Annual, which was continued for nine years. For one 
year he edited The Gem, in which The Dream of Eugene Aram 
first appeared ; afterwards, issued in a separate brochure, with designs 
by W. Harvey. In 1834 he published Tylney Hall, a novel with 
which we remember to have been very much entertained, and which, 
we think, never enjoyed the favor to which it was entitled by its merits. 
In 1836 he published a new edition of his Whims and Oddities in 
Prose and Verse ; and in 1838 a selection of his contributions to the 
Comic Annual, with new matter, in a series of monthly numbers, 
under the title of Hood's Own. Ill health now compelled him to go* 
to the continent to recruit ; and while in Belgium he published his 
pleasant little volume. Up the Rhine. During his absence an article 
on his works appeared in the Westminster Review, from which we 
extract the following description of Hood as he appeared in social 
life: 

"We began by stating our conviction that few writers were so 
imperfectly understood as he of the ' Comic Annual ' is ; few, we 
may add, have been more sparingly known in the world of society. 
Hood has never sought the tinsel honors of Lionship. A shape of 
slight figure, with pale and pensive countenance, may, indeed, have 
flitted through society occasionally, without causing any remark ; 
none of the Lady Worrymores or Capel Loffts, who make themselves 
ridiculous, and their literary proteges disrespectable, by their sense- 
les ecstasies, — even dreaming that that slight figure was moving to 
and fro to gather simples of humor and folly and absurdity, but not 
in the spirit of a Sycorax, — that the rarest conceit could twinkle 
through the spectacles which give a decent gravity to those eyes, or 
that the most luxuriant whimsies and the most irresistible repartees 
could drop, rich as oil, if not always sweet as honey, from the corners 
of that impassive-looking mouth. But we know better ; and, as the 



LIFE OF HOOD. xvli 

sea divides him from us, may say as much without any fear of oui 
frisud interposing to prevent us. We have sat by his side througli the 
' small hours,' listening to tales of ghosts, remembered, improved oi 
improvised, — such as night-watchers in the nineteenth century are 
rarely permitted to enjoy. We have heard him — apart from the 
listening circle — accompany the long-winded tale of a traveller with 
such a running fire of notes and comments aside as the brethren of 
the Row w^ould give gold to gather and print. We have watched 
him so ' provoke the component members of a social rubber in that 
moment of intense interest when the game hung on a card, that odd 
tricks have been forgotten, trumps wasted, and all four hands thrown 
down, in an universal paroxysm. We have seen his Yorick spirit 
sending forth its sparkling bubbles, in despite of trial and vicissitude ; 
— for may we not allude to these, when in his preface to his last new 
undertaking our friend has himself pointed thereat ? His education 
as an engraver has given him an eye of singular keenness, — his 
genius a fancy ever ready, and a wit rarely blunt, rarely indebted to 
others for its weapon ; and these are as much manifested in his daily 
intercourse with his friends as in his more ceremonious commerce 
with the public. There is not a page in all his works more thor- 
oughly humorous than the account we once heard him deliver of a 
hurried labor at the ' Comic Annual,' when, at the eleventh hour, 
like Mozart over the overture to Don Giovanni, he fell asleep, and 
continued (he declares) to dictate, for some good ten minutes, ere 
his amanuensis, who had been plying the pen for half an hour, her- 
self scarcely less somnolent, discerned the least change in his diction, 
the least abatement of his fluency. There is no dilemma recounted 
by Mrs. Twigg, or Mrs. Jones, half so diverting as those with details 
of which his flimiliar letters from the continent are filled. But with 
these the world will perhaps one day be edified ; and it would be un- 
fair, by attempting them in feebler phrase, to forestall the new ' Pil- 
grim of the Rhine.' " 

Mrs. S. C. Hall's reminiscences of the poet relate to about the 
same period of his life : 

" I remember the first time I met him was at one of the pleasant 

soirees of the painter Martin ; for a moment I turned away aa 

many have done — disappointed, for the countenance, in repose, waa 
3f melancholy rather than of mirth ; there was something calm, even 



^Vlll LIFE OF HOOD. 

to solemnity, in the upper portion of the face, which, in public, waa 
seldom relieved by the eloquent play of the mouth, or the occasional 
sparkle of the observant eye ; and it was a general remark among hia 
acquaintances, that he was too quiet for ' the world.' There are 
many wit-watchers to be found in society, who think there is nothing 
in a man, unless, like a sounding-board, he make a great noise at a 
small toucli; who consider themselves aggrieved, unless an 'author' 
open at once like a book, and speak as he writes ; this vulgar notion, 
like others of the same stamp, creeps into good society, or what is so 
considered, and I have seen both Hook and Hood ' set,' as a pointer 
sets a partridge, by persons who glitter in evanescent light simply by 
repeating what such men have said. Mr. Hook, perhaps, liked this 
celebrity, — this sitting and staring, this lion-hunt, — so different 
from the heart-worship paid to veritable greatness. Mr. Hood did 
not ; he was too sensitive, too refined, to endure it ; the dislike to 
being pointed at as the ' man who was funny ' kept him out of a 
crowd, where there were always numbers who really honored his 
genius, and loved him for his gentle and domestic virtues. It was 
only among his friends that his playful fancy flourished, or that he 
yielded to its influence ; although, strictly speaking, ' social ' in all 
his feelings, he never sought to stimulate his wit by the false poison 
of draughts of wine ; nor was he ever more cheerful than when at his 
own fireside he enjoyed the companionship of his dear and devoted 
wife. He was playful as a child ; and his imagination, pure as 
brloht, frolicked Avith nature, whom he loved too av ell ever to outrasre 
or insult by slight or misrepresentation. And yet he was city born 
and city bred, — born in the unpoetic district of 'the Poultry,' — 
though born, as it were, to letters, for his father was a bookseller." 

On the return of Hood to England, he became editor of the Nexo 
Monihhj Magazine, and, on retiring from it in 1843, he published 
the best of his writings in prose and verse in that journal, with some 
additions, with the title of "Whimsicalities." In 1844 he started 
Hood's Magazine, his last periodical, and continued to contribute to 
its pages until within a month before his death. In his later days 
he was an occasional contributor to Punch, where his celebrated 
Song oftlie Shirt made its first appearance. 

Hood died on the third of May, 1845, leaving a widow and two 
children. He died a poor man. He had no money-making faculty. 



LIFE OF nOOD. xix 

. He could delight the world with his genius, but he did not make a 
good commercial use of it. With all his talents and fame, he did 
not manage to coin them into gold. Soon after his death a subscrip- 
tion was commenced for the benefit of his family. The project was 
communicated to the public in a single paragraph, which will be read 
with melancholy interest : 

" The late Tuomas Hood. — This distinguished writer, who has, 
for upwards of twenty years, entertained the public with a constant 
succession of comic and humoristic works, in the ivliole range of which 
not. a single line of immoral tendency, or calculated to pain an indi- 
vidual, can be pointed out, Avhose poems and serious writings rank 
among the noblest modern contributions of our national literature, 
and wliose pen was ever the ready and efficient advocate of the unfor- 
tunate and the oppressed (as recently, for instance, in the admirable 
*Song of the Shirt,' which gave so remarkable an impulse to the 
movement on behalf of the distressed needlewomen), has left, by his 
death, a widow and two children in straitened and precarious cir- 
cumstances, with no other means of subsistence than a small pension, 
terminable on the failure of the widow's life, barely sufficient to sup! 
ply a family of three with common necessaries, and "totally inadequatu 
for the education and advancement of the orphan children. Even 
this scanty resource has been, of necessity, forestalled to a consider- 
able extent during the last live months, in order to meet the heavj 
sick-room and funeral expenses. Under these circumstances, a sub 
scription for the family has been set on foot. The admirers of 
Thomas Hood throughout the country will, it is hoped, take thi- 
opportunity of publicly testifying their recognition of his genius anC 
their sense of his personal worth." 

^Of his latter days an affecting account was given in the Literar 
Gazette, shortly after his death : 

" Thomas Hood died on Saturday morning. A spirit of true phi 
lanthropy has departed from its earthly tenement ; the light of a 
curious and peculiar wit has been extinguished ; the feeling anu 
pathos of a natural poet have descended into the grave ; and left 
those who knew, admired, and loved these qualities, to feel and da 



5CX LIFE OF II001>. 

plore the loss of liim in whom they were so preeminently united 
Yet we can hardly say that we lament his death. Poor Hood ! hia 
sportive humor, like the rays from a crackling fire in a dilapidated 
building, had long played among the fractures of a ruined consti- 
tution, and flashed upon the world through the flaws and rents of a 
shattered wreck. Yet, infirm as was the fabric, the equal mind was 
lever disturbed to the last. He contemplated the approach of death 
with a composed philosophy, and a resigned soul. It had no tcrrora 
*br him. A short while ago we sat for liours by his bed-side in gen- 
eral and cheerful conversation, as when in social and healthful inter* 
30urse. Then he spoke of the certain and unavoidable event about to 
take place with perfect unreserve, unrufiied calmness ; and the lesson 
and example how to die was never given in a more impressive and 
consolatory manner than by Thomas Hood. His bodily sufferings 
had made no change in his mental character. He was the same as 
in his publications, — at times lively and jocular, at times serious and 
affecting ; and upon the one great subject of a death-bed hope, he de- 
clared himself, as throughout life, opposed to canters and hypocrites, 
— a class he had always detested and written against; while he set 
the highest price upon sincere Christianity, whose works of charity 
and mercy bore witness to the integrity and purity of the faith pro- 
fessed. ' Our common friend,' he said, ' Mrs. E , I love ; for she 

is truly religious, and not a pious, woman.' He seemed anxious that 
his sentiments on the momentous question should not be misrepre- 
Eented ; and that his animosity against the pretended should not be 
misconstrued into a want of just estimation for the real. 

" Another sulyect upon which he dwelt with much earnestness and 
gratitude, was the grant of a pension of one hundred pounds a year 
to his wife. 'There is, after all,' he observed, 'much of good to 
counterbalance the bad in this world. I have now a better opinion 
of it than i once had, when pressed by wrongs and injuries.' Two 
autograph letters from Sir Robert Peel, relating to this pension, gave 
him intense gratification, and were indeed most honorable to the 
heart of the writer, whose warmth in the expression of personal solic- 
itude for liimself and his family, and of admiration for his produc- 
tions (with which Sir Robert seemed to be well acquainted), we firmly 
believe imparted more delight to the dying man than even the pros- 
pect that those so dear to him would not be left destitute. In his 



LIFE OF HOOD. XXI 

aP6wer to the minister's first communication, he had alludec/ to the 
tendency of his writings ever being on the side of humanity and 
'»rder, and not of the modern school, to separate society into two 
.classes, the rich and poor, and to inflame hatred on the one side and 
fear on the otlier. This avowal appeared, from the reply wluch 
acknowledged its truth, to have been very acceptable to the premier, 
--from whom the gift had emanated.". 

On the 18th July, 1854, a monument was raised to the memory 
of Hood ; and in the sketch of the proceedings on this occasion, and 
the speech of Mr. Monckton xMilnes, which we copy from the London 
Times, we find a fit conclusion to this brief account of his life. Mr. 
Milnes observed : 

" I have been asked to come here to-day to say a few words before 
we open to your view the monument which has been erected to the 
memory of Hood. It is now some years since we laid our friend below 
us in this pleasant place, where he rests after a long illness — after a 
life of noble struggle with much adversity, and of nothing but good to 
his fellow-men. It is now thought advisable that a few words should 
be said before that ceremony takes place. It is rather a habit of our 
neighbors the French than of ourselves, to make eulogistic orations 
at the tombs of our friends. I do not think the habit in general is 
pleasing to our taste ; but there are reasons why, on the present 
occasion, it may not be unbecoming. At the same time, it is very 
difiicult to perform this duty, because we must feel that, if ever there 
was a character of simplicity and humility, it was that of the late 
Mr. Thomas Hood ; and it would not become us, on the present occa- 
sion, to indulge in eulogies which, if he were here himself, would be 
distasteful to him ; for he was a man who ever retired from the 
crowd, and who loved, as he has sa-id in his own classical and beau- 
tiful lano;uag;e : 

* To kueel remote upon the simple sod, 
And sue, in for md pauperis, to God.' 

Our German friends call a cemetery of this kind ' God's field,' and 
we must not desecrate it by vain and pompous eulogies over a fellow- 
mortal. All we can do is to commit liiin, with all his errors, to the 
Ttiercy of God, and at the same time to keep his memory dear and 
his fixme bright among us. This is the purpose of the friends of Mr. 
Thomas Hood who have raised this str>icture. S<jme of them were 



XXll LIFE OF HOOD. 

familiar with him from his youth — the eyes of others never lit upon 
his person. It would be invidious to single out any of these friends 
of the poet ; but I may mention the name of one lady vrho is well 
known to us all, Miss Eliza Cook, to whose exertions, in all quarters 
of society, the erection of this monument is very much owing 
Some, too, have contributed to it who did not appreciate hira during 
bis lifetime ; — to them may be applicable his beautiful lines : 

•Farewell ! we did not know thy worth ; 
But thou art gone, and now 't is prized. 
So angels walked unknown on earth, 
But when they flew were recognized.* 

** He was a poet — a poet in the true sense of the word ; but at the 
same time 1 by no means think that his poetical powers were of so 
great and remarkable a character that his reputation would have 
become such as it is if it had been confined to his poetical works 
«ilone. By his poetical Avorks I mean those developments of pure im- 
agination, which are more interesting to literary men than they can 
be to the world in general. In all these works we recognize not 
only the lyrical facilities which enable many a youth to throw out 
good poetry, but the refined taste and cultivated mind of mature 
years. But his fame — that for which he is chiefly known to us — 
belongs to him as an English humorist ; and, in using that word, I 
use no word inapplicable to the occasion or unworthy of his fame. 
It is the boast of our literature, as distinguished from that of all 
other nations, that from the earliest times of its history we find 
humoristic writers who delighted the age in which they lived and 
those which succeeded them. In that category we may place Shaks- 
peare himself, and we may draw, downwards, a long genealogical 
list of humorists, ending with the names of Charles Lamb, Sydney 
Smith, and Thomas Hood. I do not know whether my opinions in 
this matter may be peculiar ; but I have often thought that if I 
were to pray to Heaven for a gift to be given to any person in whose 
moral and intellectual welfare I was especially interested, it would 
]}Q that he might have the gift of humor. The gift of humor is, as 
t were, the balance of all the faculties. It enal)les a man to see the 
strong contrasts of life around him ; it prevents him being too much 
devoted to his own knowledge, and too proud of , his own imagina- 



LIFE OF HOOD. 



tion. and it also disposes him to submit, with a wise and pious 
patience, to the vicissitudes of his daily existence. It is thus tliot 
humorists, sucli as Iloud has been, and as Dickens is now, are -rear 
benefactors of our species, not only on account of the amusement 
which they give us, but because they are great moral teachers. The 
Jiumorou3 writings of Mr. Thomo.s Jlood have instructed vou many 
years, and will instruct your children after you. 1 should" mention, 
Iiowever, that this combination of poetry and humor does not pro- 
duce, in all persons, the same blessed eifects that it has produced 
here. In some cases it has degenerated into impatient satire and 
fierce revolt against the better feelings of humanity. In such a mmd 
as that of Swift, it produced these evil effects ; but in such a mind 
as Hood's, it produced directly the contrary : it generated a noble and 
generous sympathy with the wants and desires of his fellow-creat- 
ures ; and it is for this combination of poetical genius and humor 
and earnest philanthropy, that his name has grown up to become, as 
it were, a proverb for great wit united with deep and solemn sympa- 
thies. We recognize, ladies and gentlemen, these rare merits of Mr. 
Thomas Hood in the productions of his mature life, such as ' The 
Bridge of Sighs,' and 'The Song of the Shirt,' — verses which 
appear occasionally, and only occasionally, in literature, and which 
seem like products of the acme of the human mind— such products 
as the prison-song of Lovelace, the elegy of Gray, the sea-songs of 
Campbell, ' The Burial of Sir John Moore,' and the « May Queen ' 
of Alfred Tennyson — poems which, though they cost their authors 
much less trouble than many of their less successful works, are, nev- 
ertheless, the anchors (so to speak) of their world-wide flime. These 
beautiful poems ^of Mr. Thomas Hood have had a deep moral effect 
on different classes of society. If there are among those poems, and 
others of Mr. Thomas Hood, some expressions of stern indignation 
— if there are some passages which may seem almost exceptions to 
the general amiability of his character — it is tJmt he wished to 
enforce the moral, that 

* Evil is wrought by want of thought 
As well as want of heart.' 

i do not think therefore, that there was any levity in his character 
because lie was an humorist. I do not think, because you find in his 



XXIV LIFS OF HOOD. 

works that with his rich wit and his great possessions of language 
he delighted to play with words as if, almost, they were fireworks, 
there was a want of gravity or seriousness in his composition. In a 
poem of his which is a perfect rcpertoriinn of wit and spirit, he 
seems conscious of this himself, for he writes to the eifect that — 

* However critics may take offence, 
A double meaning gives double sense.' 

And there are, no doubt, certain subtile faculties about us which 
enable us to find such great pleasure in the combination of this agil- 
ity of diction with seriousness of purpose. Ladies and gentlemen 
who have raised this monument, I was informed by a friend of mine, 
and a dear friend of his, who remained with him to the last — Mr. 
Ward — - that jSIr. Thomas Hood was in very great disease and suffer- 
ing, that he was laboring under some pecuniary difficulties — that 
his mind was not easy on those points, and that it would be a great 
relief to him to obtain some assistance, if he could do so by any 
honorable means, for he was determined to employ no other. I went 
on that occasion to Sir R. Peel, from whom I met with the most per- 
fect sympathy as regarded the object I had in view ; and it was to 
me a most interesting fact that that great man, governing the desti- 
nies of this mighty nation, and engaged as he was in the gravest 
pursuits, could nevertheless be drawn, by the force of human sym- 
pathy, to take a deep interest in this simple man of letters. What 
was done on that occasion was sufficient for the purpose. I will ask 
you, therefore, in looking upon this bust, to regard it as a memorial 
not only ol' the interest of his friends, but as a memorial of national 
interest for a national name. It consists, as you perceive, of a plain 
bust upon a pedestal. I have always thought that a man's bust is 
the best monument which could be raised to him ; it is that which is 
most calculated to show people who come after him what he really 
was, and it is less dumb and less vacant than the monuments which 
we see mostly around us. It is perfectly true that, generally speak- 
ing, we find that busts represent the dead when we could wish they 
represented the living ; it is perfectly true, also, that in our every- 
day walk among living busts we see men of genius, whom we do not 
recognize, and whose services and virtues we do not honor ; and 
after all, this may, perhaps, be but a poor acknowledgment of the 



LIFE OF HOOD. XXV 

worth of the poet and humorist ; but still here it is, anOl we have 
raised it, and I trust all -will feel that in so doing we have not done 
honor to hira, but to ourselves. 1 remember that at the time of his 
fatal illness I was very much haunted with the recollection of some 
lines of his, which, I dare say, some of you remember. They are 
dontained in a little poem called The Dealh-bed — 

•We watched her breathing through the night, 
Her breathing soft and low. 
As in her breast the wave of life 
Kept heaving to and fro. 

* So silently we seemed to speak. 

So slowly moved about. 
As we had lent her half our powers 
To eke her living out. 

* Our very hopes belied our fears. 

Our fears our hopes belied — 
We thought her dying when she slept, 
And sleeping Avhen she died. 

* For when the morn came dim and sad. 

And chill with early showers. 
Her quiet eyelids closed — she had 
Another morn than ours.' 

Tliomas Hood has now another morn than ours — may that morn 
have brightened into perfect day ! May his spirit look down with 
gratification upon us who have raised this modest homage to him — 
may he look down with pleasure on those he has left behind him, and 
who inherit his honor and his name — and may we all bear home 
with us the consoling reflection, that the fame of which a wi^e 
and honest man should- be ambitious is not that of acquiring wealth, 
power, or even earning clamorous applause, but the attaining of 
such homage as we are now paying to one who among us was a 
brother and a friend — one who may make us at the same time 
thankful to the age in which it has pleased Providence to cast cur 
lot, and grateful to the race and country of which we are commm 
citizens and men." 

The monument consists of a large bronze bust of Hood, elevated 
an a handsome pedestal of polished red granite. On a slab beneath 



XX-Vl LIFE OF HOOD. 

the bust is bis own solf-inscribed epitaph — " He sang ' The Song of 
the Shirt ; ' " and upon the projecting front of the pedestal the 
inscription is carved — " In memory of STJjomas J^ooXi, born 23d 
of May, 1798 ; died 3d of May, 1845 ; erected by public subscrip- 
tion A.D. 1854." On the sides of the pedestal are medallions illus- 
trating '♦ The Bridge of Sighs " and " The Dream of Eugene Aram.'* 
The monument is the work of Mr. Matthew Noble. It is simple in 
design, and correctly executed, and looks well in the midst of the 
medley of monuments with which Kensal-green is filling. But, in- 
dependently of any consideration of that kind, this must e?er be 
one of the chief treasures of the place. 



LAYS OF HUMANITY. 



THE LAY OF THE LABORER. 



It was a gloomy evening. The sun had set, angry and 
threatening, lighting up the horizon with lurid flame and 
flakes of blood-red — slowly quenched by slants of distant 
rain, dense and dark as segments of the old deluge. At 
last the whole sky was black, except the low driving grey 
scud, amidst which faint streaks of lightning wandered 
capriciously towards their appointed aim, like young fire- 
fiends playing on their errands. 

" There will be a storm !" whispered Nature herself, as 
the crisp fallen leaves of autumn started up with a hollow 
rustle, and began dancing a wild round, with a whirlwind 
of dust, like some frantic orgy, ushering in a revolution. 

" There will be a storm !" I echoed, instinctively looking 
round for the nearest shelter, and making towards it at my 
best pace. At such times the proudest heads will bow to 
very low lintels ; and setting dignity against a ducking, 1 
very willingly condescended to stoop into "The Plough." 

It was a small hedo-e alehouse, too humble for the refine- 
ment of a separate parlor. One large tap-room served for 
all comers, gentle or simple, if gentlefolks, except from 
stress of weather, ever sought such a place of entertain- 
ment. Its scanty accommodations were even meaner than 
usual : the Plough had sufiered from the hardness of the 



4 THE LAY OF THE LABORER. 

times, and exhibited the bareness of a house recently un- 
furnished by the broker. The aspect of the public room 
Avas cold and cheerless. There was a mere glimmer of fire 
in the grate, and a single unsnuifed candle stood guttering 
over the neck of the stone bottle in which it was stuck, in 
the middle of the plain deal table. The low ceiling, black- 
ened by smoke, hung overhead like a canopy of gloomy 
clouds; the walls were stained with damp, and patches of 
the plaster had peeled off from the naked laths. Ornament 
there was none, except a solitary print, gaudily daubed in 
body-colors, and formerly glazed, as hinted by a small trian- 
gle of glass in one corner of the black frame. The subject, 
" the Shipwrecked Mariner," whose corpse, jacketed in 
bright sky-blue, rolled on a still brighter strip of yellow 
shingle, between two grass-green wheat-sheaves with white 
ears — but intended for foaming billows. Above all, the 
customary odors were wanting ; the faint smell of beer and 
ale, the strong scent of spirits, the fumes of tobacco ; none 
of them agreeable to a nice sense, but decidedly missed with 
a feeling akin to disappointment. Rank or vapid, they be- 
longed to the place, representing, though in an infinitely 
lower key, the bouquet of Burgundy, the aroma of choice 
liqueurs — the breath of Social Enjoyment. 

Yet there was no lack of company. Ten or twelve men, 
some young, but the majority of the middle age, and one or 
two advanced in years, were seated at the sordid board. 
As many glasses and jugs of various patterns stood before 
them ; but mostly empty, as was the tin tankard from which 
they had been replenished. Only a few of the party in the 
neighborhood of a brown earthenware pitcher had full cups ; 
but of the very small ale called Adam's. Their coin and 
credit exhausted, they were keeping up the forms of drink- 
ing and good fellowship with plain water. From the same 



THE LAY OF THE LABORER. 5 

cause, a bundle of new clay pipes lay idle on the table, un- 
soiled by the Indian weed. 

A glance sufficed to show that the company were of the 
laboring class — men with tanned, furrowed faces, and hairy 
freckled hands — who smelt " of the earth, earthy," and 
were clad in fustian and leather, in velveteen and corduroy, 
glossy with wear or wet, soiled by brown clay and green 
moss, scratched and torn by brambles, wrinkled, warped, 
and threadbare with age, and variously patched — garments 
for need and decency, not show ; — for if, amid the prevail- 
ing russets, drabs, and olives, there was a gayer scrap of 
green, blue, or red, it was a tribute not to vanity but ex- 
pediency — some fragment of military broadcloth or livery 
plush. 

As I entered, the whole party turned their eyes upon 
me, and having satisfied themselves by a brief scrutiny that 
my face and person were unknown to them, thenceforward 
took no more notice of me than of their own shadows on 
the wall. I could have fancied myself invisible, they re- 
sumed their conversation with so little reserve. The topics, 
such as poor men discuss among themselves : — the dearness 
of bread, the shortness of work, the long hours of labor, 
the lowness of wages, the badness of the weather, the sick- 
liness of the season, the signs of a hard winter, the general 
evils of want, poverty, , and disease ; but accompanied by 
such psirticular revelations, such minute details, and frank 
disclosures, as should only have come from persons talking 
in their sleep! The vulgar indelicacy, methought, with 
which they gossiped before me of fomily matters— the 
brutal callousness with which they exposed their private 
affairs, the whole history of bed, board, and hearth, the se- 
crets of home ! But a little more listening and reflection 
converted my disgust into pity and concern. Alas ! I had 



6 THE LAY OF THE LABORER. 

forgotten that the lives of certain classes of our species have 
been laid almoot as bare and open as those of the beasts of 
the field ! The poor men had no domestic secrets — no pri- 
vate afiliirs ! All were public — matters of notoriety — friend 
and foe concurring in the advertisement. The law had fer- 
reted their huts, and scheduled their three-legged tables 
and bottomless chairs. Statistical Grosses had taken notes, 
and printed them, of every hole in their coats. Political 
reporters had calculated their incomings and outgoings down 
to fractions of pence and half ounces of tea, and had sup- 
plied the minutiae of their domestic economy for paragraphs 
and leading articles. Charity, arm in arm with Curiosity, 
and clerical Philanthropy, linked perhaps with a religious 
Inquisitor, had taken an inventory of their defects, moral 
and spiritual ; wh ilst medical visitors had inspected and re- 
corded their physical sores, cancerous or scrofulous, their 
humors and their tumors. 

Society, like a politician, had turned upon them the full 
blaze of its bull's eye — ^exploring the shadiest recesses of 
their privacy, till their means, food, habits, and modes of 
existence were as minutely familiar as those of the animal- 
culae exhibited in Regent Street by the solar microscope. 
They had no longer any decent appearances to keep up — 
any shabby ones to mask with a better face — any petty 
shifts to slur over — any household struggles to conceal. 
Their circumstances were known intimately, not merely to 
next-door neighbors, and kith and kin, but to the whole 
parish, the whole county, the whole country. It was one 
of their last few privileges to discuss in common with the 
Parliament, the Press, and the Public, the deplorable de- 
tails of their own aifairs. Their destitution Avas a naked 
Great Fact, and they talked of it like proclaimed Bank- 
rupts, as they were, in the wide world's Gazette. 



THE LAY OF THE LABORER. 7 

''What matters?" said a grej-headecl man, in fustian, 
in answer to a warning nudge and whisper from his neigh- 
bor. "If walls has ears, they are welcome to what they 
can ketch— aj, and the stranger to boot— if so be he don't 
know all about us already— for it 's all in print. What we 
jarn, and what we spend— what we eat, and what we drink 

— what we wear, and the cost on it from top to toe where 

we sleep, and how many on us lie. in a bed— our consarns 
are as common as waste land.'' 

'' And as many geese and donkies turned on to them, I 
do think!" cried a young fellow in velveteens — " to hear 
how folk cackle and bray about our states. And then the 
queer remedies as is prescribed, like, for a starving man .' 
A Bible says one— a Reading made Easy says another — 
a Temperance Medal says another— or maybe a Hagricul- 
tural Prize. But what is he to eat, I ax ? Why, says one, 
a Corkassian Jew — says another, a cricket ball — says an- 
other, a May-pole— and says another, the Wenus bound for 
Horsetrailye." 

"As if the idle hands and empty pockets," said the 
grey-headed man, " did not make signs of themselves for 
work and wages — and a hungry belly for bread and cheese." 
" That's true, any how," said one of the water-drinkers. 
" I only wish a doctor would come at this minute, and lis- 
ten with his telescope on my stomach, and he would hear it 
a-talking as plain as our magpie, and saying, I wants wit- 
ties." 

There was a general peal of mirth at this speech, but 
brief and ending abruptly, as laughter does, when extorted 
by the odd treatment of a serious subject — a flash followed 
by a deeper gloom. The conversation then assumed a 
graver tone ; each man in turn recountocl the trials, priva- 
tions, and visitations, of himself, his wife, and children, or 



8 THE LAY OF THE LABORER. 

his neighbor's — not mentioned with fierceness, intermingling 
oaths and threats, nor with bitterness — some few allusions 
excepted to harsh overseers or miserly masters — but as sol- 
diers or sailors describe the hardships and sufferings they 
have had to encounter in their rough vocation, and evident- 
ly endured in their OAvn persons with a manly fortitude. 
If the speaker's voice faltered, or his eyes moistened, it was 
only when he painted the sharp bones showing tbrougli the 
skin, the skin through the rags, of the wife of his bosom ; 
or how the traditional Wolf, no longer to be kept from the 
door, had rushed in and fastened on his young ones. What 
a revelation it was ! Fathers, with more children than shil- 
lings per w^eek — mothers travailing literally in the straw — 
infants starving before the parents' eyes, with cold, and 
famishing for food ! Human creatures, male and female, 
old and young, not gnawed and torn by single woes, but 
worried at once by Winter, Disease, and Want, as by 
that triple-headed Dog, whelped in the Realm of Tor- 
ments ! 

My ears tingled, and my cheeks flushed with self-re- 
proach, remembering my fretful impatience under my own 
inflictions, no light ones either, till compared with the heavy 
complications of anguish, moral and physical, experienced 
by those poor men. My heart swelled with indignation, 
my soul sickened with disgust, to recall the sobs, sighs, tears, 
and hysterics — the lamentations and imprecations bestowed 
by pampered Selfishness on a sick bird or beast, a sore fin- 
ger, a swelled toe, a lost rubber, a missing luxury, an ill- 
made garment, a culinary failure ! — to think of the cold 
looks and harsh words cast by the same lips, eloquent in 
self-indulgence, on nakedness, starvation, and poverty. 
Wealth, with his own million of money, pointing to the 
new half-farthings as fitting money for the million — Glut- 



THE LAY OF THE LABORER. n 

tonj, gorged with dainties, washed down bj -iced cham- 
pagne, complacently commending his humble brethren to 
the brook of Elisha and the salads of Nebuchadnezzar • 
and Fashion, in furs and velvet, comfortably beholding her 
squalid sisters shivering in robes de zephyr, woven bj°wi»- 
ter itself, with a warp of the north, and the woof of an east 
wind ! 

" The job up at Eosely is finished," said one of the mid- 
dle-aged men. " I have enjoyed but three days' work in 
the last fortnight, and God above knows when I shall get 
another, even at a shilling a day. And nine mouths 
to feed, big and little— and nine backs to clothe-and the 
rent behind-hand— and never a bed to lie on, and my good 

woman, poor soul, ready to " —a choking sound^'and 

a hasty gulp of water smothered the rest of the sentence. 
''There must be something done for us— there must," he 
added, with an emphatic slap of his broad, brown, barky 
hand, that made the glasses jingle and the idle pipes clatter 
on the board. And every voice in the room echoed '' there 
must," my own involuntarily swelling the chorus. 

"Ay, there must, and that full soon," said the gray- 
headed man in fustian, with an upward appealing look, as 
if through the smoky clouds of the ceiling to God himself 
for confirmation of the necessity. '^ But come, lads, time's 
up, so lefs have our chant, and then squander." 

The company immediately stood up; and one of the 
elders, with a deep bass voice, and to a slow, sad air, began 
a rude song, the composition probably of some provincial 
poet of his own class, the rest of the party joining occa- 
sionally in a verse that served for the burden. 

A spade ! a rake ! a hoe ! 
A pickaxe, or a bill ! 



10 THE LAY OF THE LABORER. 

A hook to reap, or a scythe to mow, 

A flail, or what ye will — 
And here 's a ready hand 

To ply the needful tool, 
• And skill' d enough, by lessons rough. 

In Labor's rugged school. 

To hedge, or dig the ditch, 

To lop or fell the tree, 
To lay the swarth on the sultry field, 

Or plough the stubborn lea ; 
The harvest stack to bind, 

The wheaten rick to thatch, 
And never fear in my pouch to find 

The tinder or the match. 

To a flaming barn or farm 

My fancies never roam ; 
The fire I yearn to kindle and burn 

Is on the hearth of Home ; 
Where children huddle and crouch 

Through dark long winter days. 
Where starving children huddle and crouch, 

To see the cheerful rays, 
A-glowing on the haggard cheek, 

And not in the haggard's blaze I 

To Him who sends a drought 

To parch the fields forlorn, 
The rain to flood the meadows with mud, 

The blight to blast the corn, 
To Him I leave to guide 
. The bolt in its crooked path, 



THE LAY OF THE LABORER. 1] 

To strike the miser's rick, and show 
The skies blood-red with wrath. 

A spade ! a rake ! a hoe ! 

A pickaxe, or a bill ! 
A hook to reap, or a scythe to mow, 

A flail, or what je will 
The corn to thrash, or the hedge to plash 

The mnrket-teani to drive, 
Or mend the fence by the cover side, 

And leave the game alive. 

Aj, only give me work, 

And then you need not fear 
That I shall snare his worship's hare, 

Or kill his grace's deer ; 
Break into his lordship's house, 

To steal the plate so rich ; 
Or leave the yoeman that had a purse 

To welter in a ditch. 

Wherever Nature needs, 

Wherever Labor calls. 
No job I '11 shirk of the hardest work, 

To shun the workhouse walls ; 
Where savage laws begrudge 

The pauper babe its breath, 
And doom a wife to a widow's life, 

Before her partner's death. 

My only claim is this, 

With labor stiif and stark. 
By lawful turn my living to earn, 

Between the li2;ht and dark ; 



12 THE LAY OF THE LABORER. 

Mj daily bread, and nigbtly bed, 
My bacon, and drop of beer — 

But all from the hand that holds the land, 
And none from the overseer ! 

No parish money, or loaf, 

No pauper badges for me, 
A son of the soil, by right of toil 

Entitled to my fee. 
No alms I ask, give me my task : 

Here are the arm, the leg. 
The strength, the sinews of a Man, 

To work, and not to beg 

Still one of Adam's heirs. 

Though doom'd by chance of birth 
To dress so mean, and to eat the lean, 

Instead of the fat of the earth ; 
To make such humble meals 

As honest labor can, 
A bone and a crust, with a grace to God, 

And little thanks to man ! 

A spade ! a rake ! a hoe ! 
. - A pickaxe, or a bill ! 

A hook to reap, or a scythe to mow, 

A flail, or what ye will — 
Whatever the tool to ply, 

Here is a willinor drudnre, 
With muscle and limb, and woe to him 

Who does their pay begrudge ! 

Who every weekly score 
Docks labor's little mite, 



THE LAY OF THE LABORER. 13 

Bestows on the poor at the temple door, 

But robbil them over ninht. 
Tlie very shilling he hoped to save, 

As health and morals fail, 
Shall visit me in the New Bastile. 

The Spital, or the Gaol ! 

As the last ominous word ceased ringing, the candle-wick 
suddenly dropped into the neck of the stone bottle, and all 
was darkness and silence. 

The vision is dispelled — the Fiction is gone — but a Fact 
and a Figure remain. 

Some time since, a strong inward impulse moved me to 
paint the destitution of an overtasked class of females, who 
work, work, work, for wages almost nominal. But deplor- 
able as is their condition, in the low deep there is, it seems, 
a lower still — below that gloomy gulf a darker region of 
human misery, — beneath that Purgatory a Hell — resound- 
ing with more doleful wailings and a sharper outcry — the 
voice of famishing wrotches, pleading vainly for work ! 
work ! work ! — imploring as a blessing what was laid upon 
Man as a curse — the labor that wrings sweat from the brow, 
and bread from the soil ! 

As a matter of conscience, that wail touches me not. As 
my works testify, I am of the working class myself, and in 
my humble sphere furnish employment for many hands, 
including paper-makers, draughtsmen, engravers, composi- 
tors, pressmen, binders, folders, and stitchers — and critics 
— all receiving a fair day's wages for a fair day's work. i\Iy 
gains consequently are limited — not nearly so enormous as 
have been realized upon shirts, slops, shawls, &c. — curious- 
ly illustrating how a man or woman might be " clothed with 



14 THE LAY or THE LABORER. 

curses as with a garment." Mj fortune may be expressed 
without a long row of those ciphers — those O's, at once sig- 
nificant of hundreds of thousund.s of pounds, ar.d as many 
ejaculations of pain and sorrow from dependent slaves. }dy 
wealth might all be hoarded, if I were miserly, in a galli- 
pot or a tin snuff-box. My guineas, placed edge to edge, 
instead of extending from the Minories to Golden Square, 
would barely reach from home to Bread Street. My riches 
would hardly allow me a roll in them, even if turned into 
the new copper mites. But then, thank God ! no reproach 
clings to my coin. No tears or blood clog the meshes, no 
hair, plucked in desperation, is knitted with the silk of my 
lean purse. No consumptive seamstress can point at me her 
bony forefinger, and say, "For thee, sewing in forma 
jjauperis^ I am become this Living Skeleton !'"' or, hold up 
to me her fatal needle, as one through the eye of which the 
scriptural camel must pass ere I may hope to enter heaven. 
No withered Avork-woman, shaking at me her dripping 
suicidal locks, can cry, in a piercing voice, "For thee, and 
for six poor pence, I embroidered eighty flow^ers on this 
veil" — liberally a veil of tears. No famishing laborer, his 
joints racked w^ith toil, holds out to me in the palm of his 
broad hard hand seven miserable shillings, and mutters, 
'• For these, and a parish loaf, for six long days, from dawn 
till dusk, through hot and cold, through wet and dry, I 
tilled thy land !" My short sleeps are peaceful ; my 
dreams untroubled. No ghastly phantoms with reproach- 
ful faces, and silence more terrible than speech, haunt my 
quiet pillow^ No victims of &low Murder, ushered by the 
Avenging Fiends, beset my couch, and make aw^ful appoints 
ments with me to meet at the Divine bar on the Day of 
Judgment. No deformed human creatures — men, women, 
children, smirched black as Negroes, transfigured sudden- 



THE LAY OF THE LABORER. 15 

ly, as Demons of the Pit, clutch at my heels to drag mo 
down, down, down, an unfathomable shaft, into a gapin^ 
Tartarus. And if sometimes in -waking visions I see 
throngs of little faces, with features preternaturally sharp, 
and wrinkled brows, and dull, seared orbs, — grouped with 
pitying clusters of the young-eyed cherubim, — not for me, 
thank Heaven ! did those crippled children become prema- 
turely old, and precociously evaporate, like so much steam 
power, " the dew of their youth." 

For me, then, that doleful cry from the Starving Unem- 
ployed has no extrinsic horror ; no peculiar pang, beyond 
that sympathetic one which must affect the species in gen- 
eral. Nevertheless, amidst the dismal chorus, one com- 
plaining voice rings distinctly on my inward ear ; one.mel- 
ancholy Figure flits prominentl/ before my mind's eye, — 
vaguo of feature indeed, and in form with only the common 
outlinas of humanity,— but the Eidolon of a real person, a 
living breathing man, Avith a known name. One whom 
I have never seen in the flesh ; never spoken Avith ; yet 
who33 vjry words a still small voice is even now whispering 
to me, I know not whence, like the wind from a cloud. 

For months past, that indistinct Figure, associated, as in 
a dream, with other dim images, but all mournful— strange 
faces, male and female, convulsed with grief— hufre hard 
hands, and smaller and tenderer ones, wrung in speechless 
anguish, and everlasting farewells— involved with obscure 
ocem waves, and momentary glimpses of outlandish scenery 

for months past, amidst trie Is of my own, in the inter- 
vals of acute pain, perchance even in my delirium, and 
through the variegated tissue of my own interests and 
affiirs, that sorrowfid Vision has recurred to me, more or 
less vividly, with the intense sense of suffering, cruelty, and 



r 



16 THE LAY OF THE LABORER. 

injustice, and the strong emotions of pity and indignation 
wliicli originated with its birth. 

It may be, that some peculiar condition of the body, in- 
duciniT a morbid state of mind — some extreme excitability 
of the nerves, and through them of the moral sensibility, 
concurred to induce so deep an impression, to make so warm 
a sympathy attach itself to a mere Phantom, the represent- 
ative of an obscure individual, an utter stranger. The 
Reader must judge : and when the case of my unknown, 
unconscious, invisible client shall be laid before him, will 
be able to say wdiether it required any unnatural sensitive- 
ness of the system, any extraordinary s 'ftening of the 
heart or brain, to feel a strong human interest in the fate 
of Gilford White. 

In the sprirg of the present year this very unfortunate 
and very young man was indicted, at the Huntingdon As- 
sizes, for throwing the following; letter, addressed external- 
ly and internally to the Farmers of Bluntisham, Hunts, 
into a strawyard : — 

" "VVe are determined to set fire to the v.liolo of this place, if jou don't 
set us to work, and burn you in your beds, if there is not an alteration. 
"What do you think the young men are to do if you don't set them to work ? 
They must do something. The fact is, we cannot go on any longer. "W'o 
must commit robbery, and every thing that is contrary to your wish. 

"I am. An Enemy. 

For this offence, admitted by his plea, the prisoner, aged 
eighteen, was sentenced, by a judge since deceased, to 
Transportation for Life ! 

Far be it from me to palliate Incendiarism. Least of all, 
when so many conflagrations have recently illuminated the 
horizon ; and so near the time when the memory of that 
Arch Incendiary Guy Faux will be revived by effigies and 



THE LAY OF TUE LADORER. I7 

bonfires. I nm fully aware of the risk of even tl,i.s o|,peaI 
at such a season, but, wiih that pleading t^h.ide helbre n.e' 
dare the reddest reflections that may be east on this ,„,.er! 
Only eateh a real Incendiary, bring his guilt clearly 
homo to lum, and let hin, suffer the extreme ,,e„alty of the 
law. Hang Imn. Or, if absolutely opposed to capital 
punishment, and inclined towards the philanthropy of a 
very Frencli philosophy, adopt the Christianly substitute 
recommended in the "Mysteries of Paris," and blind tho 
cnmnial. Let fire avenge fire, and according to the nre- 
scnptmn for Prince Arthur, with irons hot burn out both 
Ins eyes. Cruel and e.vtreme as such tortures may seem 
they would scarcely expiate one of the most dastardly and 
atrocious of human crimes, inasmuch as the perpetrator ean 
neither control its extent nor calculate the results 

The truth is, my faith stops far short of the popular be- 
lief m the prevalence of wilful and malignant Fire-raisin, 
-that an epidemic of that inflammatory character is so 
rite and raging as represented in the provinces. I am too 
jealous of the national character, too ehary of the .'ood 
name of my humble countrymen, and think too well of "a 
bold peasantry, our country's pride," to look on them wil- 
- Iingly, as a mere pack of Samson's fo.xes, runnin,. from farm 
to farm with firebrands tied to their tails. If there be any 
notable increase in tho number of fires, some portion of the 
excess may bo fairly attributable to causes which have con- 
verted simple risks into Doubly Hazardous; for example 
tlie prevalence of cigar smoking, and especially the sub..ti- 
tution for tho old tinder-box of dangerous chemical co.itri- 
'■ances, facile of ignition, and distributed by myria.ls 
througliout the country. Talismans, that like tho Arabian 
ones on a slight rubbing, place a Demon at the command 
ot the possessor-spells which have subjected the Fire 



18 THE LAY OF THE LABORER. 

Spirit to the instant invocation not merely of the wicked, 
but of the weak and the witless, the infant and the idiot. 
Generally, we work and play with the element more pro- 
fusely than formerly ; witness the glowing flames, flakes, 
sparks, and cinders, that sweep across streets, over seas 
and rivers, and along }-ailroads, from the chimneys, fun- 
nels, and furnaces of the factories, and floating and flying 
conveyances of Pluto, Vulcan and Company. Another 
cause, Spontaneous Combustion, has lately been convicted 
of the destruction of the railway station at New Cross-, 
and there is no reason to suppose that conflagrations from 
carelessness, and excessive house-warmings from inebriety, 
are less common than of old. Children will still play with 
fire ; servants, town and country, persist in snufiing long 
wicks, as well as noses, with finger and thumb ; and Agri- 
cultural Distress has not so annihilated the breed of Jolly 
Farmers but that one, here and there, is still capable of 
blowing himself out, and putting his candle to bed. 

In the meantime, vulgar Exaggeration ascribes every 
'' rapid consumption" of property, not clearly traceable to 
accident, to a malicious design. The English public, accord- 
ing to Goldsmith, are prone to panics, and he instances 
them as arming themselves with thick gloves and stout 
cudgels against certain popular bugbears in the shapes of 
mad dogs. And a fatal thing it is, proverbially, for the 
canine race to get an ill name. But a panic becomes a far 
more tragical affair when it arms one class of society against 
another ; and instead of mere brutes and curs of low de- 
gree, animals of our own species are hunted down and hung, 
or at best, all but banished to another world, by transporta- 
tion for life. It is difficult to believe that some such local 
panic did not influence the very severe sentence passed on 
Gifford White. Indeed, the existence of something of the 



THE LAY OF THE LABORER. 



10 



kind seems intimated hy the judge himself, along .ith the 
ex raordmar^ d.ctum that a verbal burn is .orst than 
actual cauterj. Lord Abinger said : — 

a 1 off 1 r , ? ' *"" "-""^ ""•""'^ ^"° '"'«'<'. ^v'^ -""do to Uvo in 
a state of continual terror and alarm." • 

Very true-and very Larshly applied. The Farmers of 
Bluntasham are not of my acquaintance; but presun.in. 
tbem to be not more nervous and timorsome than farmerl 
in general, might not their terror and alarm have been 
paeified on rather easier terms ? \yould not the banisliment 
of the culprit for seven, or at most fourteen years, have al- 
lowed time, ample time, for the yeomanly nerves to have re- 
covered their tone; for their affrighted hair, erect as stub- 
ble, to have subsided prone as rolled grass; nay, for the 
very name of Gifford White to have evaporated from their 
agneultural heads ? Were I a Bluntisham farmer, I could 
not eat with relish another rasher of bacon, or swallow with 
satisfaction another glass of strong ale, without protestin.. 
publicly against such a sacrifice to my supposed aspen-fits° 
and setting on foot a petition amongst my neighbors for a 
mitigation of that severe and satirical sentence which con- 
demned a fellow parishioner to expiate my fears by fifty- 
two years of penance— according to the scriptural calcula- 
tion of human life— in the land of the kangaroo. I could 
not sleep soundly, and know, tliat for my sake a son of the 
same .soil had been rooted out like a common weed— sever- 
ed from kith and kin; from hearth and home, if he liad 
one; from his mother-country, hard step-mother though 



20 THE LAY OF THE LABOllER. 

she had proved ; from a familiar land and native air, to a 
foreign one and a new climate, with strange faces around 
him °ui(l strange stars above him —a banished man, not for 
a little while, or for a long while, but for ever I 

But, methinks I hear a voice say, it was necessary to 
make an example— a proceeding always accompanied by a 
certain degree of hardship, if not injustice, as regards the 
party selected to be punished i?i terrorem ; unless the chox-e 
be made of a criminal especially deserving such a painful pref- 
erence—as for robbery with personal violence : whereas 
there appear to be no aggravations of the oiience for which 
Gifford White was sentenced to a murderer's atonement. 
On the contrary, he pleaded guilty ; a course generally ad- 
mitted as an extenuation of guilt : his youth ought to have 
been a circumstance in his fivor ; and, above ail, the con- 
sideration that a threat does not necessarily involve the intent, 
much less the deed. All who have been led, by word or writ- 
ing-, to hope or fear, for good or evil, have had reason to know 
how far is Promise from Performance,— as far as England 
from New South Wales. Expectants never die the sooner 
for golden prospects held out to them ; and threatened folks 
are long-lived, to a proverb. And why? Because the 
enemy Avho announces his designs is the least dangerous : 
as the Scotch say, " his bark is waur than his bite." The 
truth is, menaces are about the most abundant, idle, and 
empty of human vaporings; the mere puffings, blowings, 
gruntings, and growlings, from the safety-valves and waste- 
pipes of high-pressure engines. The promissory notes of 
threateners to large amounts are ludicrously associated, in- 
stead of payment, with " no effects." Who of us has not 
heard a good mother, a fond mother, a doting mother, but 
sharp tempered, promise her own dear but troublesome off- 
spring, her very pets, such savage inflictions, such break- 



THE LAY OF THE LABORER. 21 

ings of bones and knocking off plaguy little heads, as ouglit, 
sincerely uttered, to have consigned her to the custody of 
the police? There, as my uncle Toby says, she found vent. 
Who has never known a friend, a -worthy man, but a pas- 
sionate one, to indulirc in such murderous threats ao-aiiist 
the life, body, and limbs of a tight boot-maker, or a loose 
tailor; a blunt creditor, or a sharp critic; as ought, if in 
earnest, to have placed him in handcuffs and a straight 
^vaistcoat ? But nobody mistakes these blazes of teuipcr 
for the burnincfs of settled malio-nitv — these harmless flashes 
of sheet lightning for the destructive gleam of the forked. 
It is quite possible, therefore, that the incendiary letter of 
Giffjrd White, though breathing Congreves and Lucifers, 
was purely theoretical ; albeit read by the judge as if in 
ssrious earnest, like the fulminating prospectuses of the 
Duo de Normandie or Captain Warner. 

I confess to have searched, in vain, through the epistle 
for any animus of peculiar atrocity. Its address, general- 
ly to the farmers, shows it not to have been the inspiration 
of personal malice or private revenge. The threat is not a 
direct and positive one, as in resolved retaliation for soma 
by-gone wrong ; but put hypothetically, and rather in the 
nature of a warning of probable consequences, dependent 
on future contingencies. The wish of the writer is obvious- 
ly not father to the menace : on the contrary, he expostu- 
lates, and appeals, methinks most touchingly, to the reason, 
the justice, even the compassion of the very parties — -to be 
burnt in their beds. So clear a proof, to me, of the ab- 
sence of any serious intent, or malice prepense, that the 
only agitation from the fall of such a missive in my farm- 
yard, if I had one, would be the flutter amongst the poul- 
try. At least, theirs would be the only personal terror and 
alarm, — for, with other feelings, who could fail to be moved 



22 THE LAY OF THE LABORER. 

by a momentous question and declaration re-eclioed by hun- 
dreds and thousands of able and Avilling, but starving la- 
borers. " What arc wo to do if you don't set us to work ? 
"VYe must do something. The fact is, we cannot go on any 
longer !'' 

Can the wholesale emigration, so often proposed, bo only 
transportation in disguise for using such language in com- 
mon with Gifford White ? 

To me — speaking from my heart, and recording my de- 
liberate opinions on a material that, frail as it is, will long 
outlast my own fabric, — there is something deeply affecting 
in the spectacle of a young man, in the prime of health and 
vigor, offering himself, a voluntary slave, in the Labor- 
market without a purchaser --eagerly proffering to barter 
the use of his body, the day-long exertion of his strength, 
the wear and tear of flesh and blood, bone and muscle, for 
the common necessaries of life — earnestly craving for bread 
on the penal conditions prescribed by his Creator — and in 
vain — in vain ! Well for those wdio enjoy each Blessing of 
earth that there are volunteers to work out the Curse ! 
Well for the drones of the social hive that there are bees 
of so industrious a turn, willing for an infinitesimal share 
of the honey to undertake the labor of its fabrication ! 

Let these considerations avail an unfortunate man, or 
rather youth, perhaps an oppressed one, subject to the 
tyranny of some such ticket system as lately required the 
interference of the Home Secretary, in behalf of the labor- 
ers of another county. 

Methinks I see him, poor Phantom ! an impertinent unit 
of a surplus population, humbly pleading for bread, and 
offered an acre of stones^to be cleared at five farthings a 
rood. Work and wages for the asking! — with the double 
alternative of the Union-house, or a free passage — the 



TUE LAY OF THE LABORER. 2'6 

North-AVest one — to the still undiscovered coast of Bohe- 
mia ! 

Is a rash youth, so -wrought on, to be eternally Ex-Isled 
from this sweet little one of our own, for only throwing a 
few intemperate "thoughts that breathe and words that 
burn" into an anonymous letter? 

Let these things plead for a fellow-creature, goaded, per- 
haps, by the sense of wrong, as well as the physical pangs 
of hunger, and driven by the neglect of all milder applica- 
tions to appeal to the seliBsh fears of men who will neither 
read the signs of the times, nor heed warnings, unless writ- 
ten, like Belshazzar's, in letters of fire ! 

One thinoc is certain. These are not times for visitins: 
with severity the offences of the laboring poor : a class who, 
it is admitted by all parties, have borne the severest trials 
that can afflict the soul and body of man, with an exempla- 
ry fortitude, and a patience almost superhuman. A great 
fact, at which every true Englishman should exult, as at 
a National Victory, as in moral heroism it is. I, for one, 
am proud of my poor countrymen, and naturally loth to be- 
lieve that a character which so reluctantly combines with 
disaffection, and indulges so sparely in outbreak, will freely 
absorb so vile a spirit as that of incendiarism. At any rate, 
before rashly adopting such a conclusion, common justice 
and common sense bid me look elsewhere for the causes of 
any unusual number of fires in the rural districts. As a 
mere matter of patriotism, one would rather ascribe such un- 
filial outrages to an alien than to a son of the soil. We 
have lately seen a Foreign Prince, an ally, in a time of 
peace, speculating with much playful naiveto on the best 
modes for squibbing our shipping and rocketing our harbors 
— the facility with which he could ignite the Thames and 
mull the Medway — sink the Cinque Po^'t'^-'-bloAV off 



•24: THE LAY OF THE LABORER. 

Bcachj's head, shiver Deal into splinters, and knock the 
tAYO lleculver steeples into one. His Highness, it is true, 
contemplated a bellicose state, ceremoniously proclaimed 
according to the usage of polite nations : but suppose some 
outlandish savage, as uncivilized as unshorn, say from Ter- 
ra del Fueo-o, animated with an insane hostility to England, 
and burning to test his skill in Pyrotechnics — might not 
such a barbarian be tempted to dispense with a formal dec- 
laration of war, and make a few experimental essays how 
to introduce his treacherous combustibles into our perfidious 
towns and hamlets ? Foreign incendiaries for me, rather 
than native ; and accident or Spontaneous Combustion be- 
fore either ! But if we must believe in it home-made — 
surely, in preference to the industrious laborer, suspicion 
should fall on those sturdy trampers that infest the country, 
the foremost to crave for food and money, the last to ask 
for work, and one of whom might light up a dozen parishes. 
If it be otherwise, if a class eminently loyal, patient, peace- 
able, and rational, have really become such madmen throw- 
ing about fire, it is high time, methinks, with universal Ar- 
tesian borings, to begin to scuttle our island for fear of its 
being burnt. But no — that Shadow of an Incendiary, with 
uplifted hands, and streaming repentant eyes, disavows with 
earnest gesture the foul intent ; and shadow as he is, my 
belief acquits him, and makes me echo the imaginary sigh 
with which he fades again into the foggy distance between 
me and Port Sydney. 

It is in your power, Sir James Graham ! to lay the 
Ghost that is haunting me. But that is a trifle. By a due 
intercession Avith the earthly Fountain of Mercy, you may 
convert a melancholy Shadow into a happier Reality — a 
righted man — a much pleasanter image to mingle in our 
waking visions, as well as in those dreams which, a^ Ham- 



THE LAY OF THE LABORER. 25 

let conjectures, may soothe or disturb us in our coffins. 
Think, Sir, of poor Gilford White — inquire into his hard 
case, and give it your humane consideration, as that of a 
fellow-man with an immortal soul — a " possible anger'- to 
bo met Jiereafter face to face. 

To me, should this appeal meet with any success, it will 
be one of the dearest deeds of my pen. I shall not rej)ei!t 
a wide deviation from my usual course ; or begrudge th j 
pain and trouble caused me by the providential visitin<»-s of 
an importunate Phantom. In any case, my own responsi- 
bility is at an end. I have relieved my heart, appeased my 
conscience, and absolved my soul. 

T. HOOD* 

* We copy the following note from the seventh volume of Hood's Works, 
edited by his son : — 

[This appeal was so earnest and urgent, that, at the risk of overburdening 
the voUinie with compositions Avhich are not my fathe-'s, I venture to insert, 
wiiole and unnlirid.<red, tlie answer which Sir James (Jraliam returned to an 
address, whicli, liowe-ver publicly made, was a direct pcsonal pleading ot the 
{strongest kind. The answer runs thus: 

" Sir James Graham presents his compliments to Mr. Hood, and begs to tc- 
knowledge tlie magazine accompanying his letter of tte 30th instant. 

" WhUthaU, 31 October, ]8W."] 



THE BRIDGE OF SIGH8.. 



** Drowned ! drowned ! " — Hamlet. 



One more unfortunate, 
Weary of breath, 
Rashly importunate, 
Gone to her death ! 

Take her up tenderly, 
Lift her with care ; 
Fashioned so slenderly, 
Young, and so fair ! 

Look at her garments 
Clinging like cerements; 
Whilst the wave constantly 
Drips from her clothing ; 
Take her up instantly, 
Loving, not loathing. — 

Touch her not scornfully ; 
Think of her mournfully, 
Gently and humanly ; 
Not of the stains of her, 
All that remains of her 
Now is pure womanly. 



28 THE BRIDGE OF BIGllS. 

jSIakc no deep scrutiny 
Into her mutiny 
Rash and undutiful : 
Past all dishonor, 
Death has left on her 
Only the beautiful. 

Still, for all slips of hers, 
One of Eve's family — 
Wipe those poor lips orf hers 
Oozing so clammily. 

Loop up her tresses 
Escaped from the comb, 
Her fair auburn tresses ; 
Whilst wonderment guesses 
Where was her home] 

Who was her father 7 
Who was her mother 7 
Had she a sister 7 
Had she a brother 7 
Or was there a dearer one 
Still, and a nearer one 
Yet, than all other 7 



Alas for the rarity 
Of Christian charity 
Under the sun ! 
0, it was pitiful ! 
Near a whole city full, 
Home she had none. 

Sisterly, brotherly, 
Fatherly, motherly 



THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. 29 

Feelings had changed : 
Love, bj harsh evidence, 
Tliiown from its eminence ; 
Even God's providence 
Seeming estranged. 

Where the lamps quiver 
So far in the river, 
With many a light 
From Avindow and casement, 
From garret to basement, 
She stood, with amazement, 
Houseless by night. 

The bleak wind of March 
Made her tremble and shiver : 
But not the dark arch. 
Or the black flowino; river : 
Mad from life's history. 
Glad to death's mystery, 
Swift to be hurled — 
Anywhere, anywhere 
Out of the world I 

In she plunged boldly, 
No matter how coldly 
The rough river ran, — 
Over the brink of it, 
Picture it — think of it, 
Dissolute man ! 
Lave in it, drink of it. 
Then, if you can ! 

Take her up tenderly, 
Lift her with care ; 



30 THE BHIDQE OF SIOUS. 

Fashioned so slenderly, 
Young, and so fair ! 

Ere her limbs frigidly 
Stiffen too rigidly, 
Decently, — kindly, — 
Smooth, and compose them j 
And her eyes, close them, 
Staring so blindly ! 

Dreadfully staring 
Through muddy impurity, 
As when with the daring 
Last look of despairing 
Fixed on futurity. 

Perishing gloomily. 
Spurred by contumely, 
Cold inhumanity, 
Burning insanity. 
Into her rest. — 
Cross her hands humbly, 
As if praying dumbly. 
Over her breast ! 

Owning her weakness, 
Her evil behavior, 
And leaving, with meekness. 
Her sins to her Saviour ! 



THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. 



With fingers weary and worn, 

With eyelids heavy and red, 
A woman sat in unwomanly rags. 

Plying her needle and thread — 
Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! 
In poverty, hunger, and dirt. 

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch 
She sang the '* Song of the Shirt ! " 

" Work ! work ! work ! 
While the cock is crowing aloof! 

And work — work — work. 
Till the stars shine throusjh the roof! 
It 's ! to be a slave 

Along with the barbarous Turk, 
Where woman has never a soul to save, 

If this is Christian work ! 

' ' Work — work — work 
Till the brain besiins to swim ! 

Work — work — work 
Till the eyes are heavy and dim ! 
Seam, and gusset, and band. 

Band, and gusset, and seam. 
Till over the buttons I fall asleep, 

And sew them on in a dream ! 



32 TUE SONG OF Tllii SHIRT. 

"0, men, with sisters dear ! 

O. men, Avitli mothers and wives J 
It is not liuen you 're wearing out, 
But human creatures' lives ! 

Stitch — stitch — stitch, 
In poverty, hunger, and dirt, 
' Sewing at once, with a double thread, 

A shroud as well as a shirt. 

" But why do I talk of death ? 

That phantom of grisly bone, 
I hardly fear his terrible shape. 

It seems so like my own — 
It seems so like my OAvn, 

Because of the fasts I keep ; 
0, God ! that bread should be so dear, 

And flesh and blood so cheap ! 

" Work — work — work ! 

My labor never flags ; 
And what are its wages 7 A bed of straW; 

A crust of bread — and rags. 
That shattered roof — and this naked floor — 

A table — a broken chair — 
And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank 

For sometimes falling there ! 

' ' Work — work — work ! 

From weary chime to chime. 
Work — work — work, 

As prisoners w^ork for crime ! 
Band, and gusset, and seam, 

Seam, and gusset, and band, 
Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumbed, 

As well as the weary hand. 



THE SONG OF TUE SUIRT. 33 

'' Work — Avork — work, 
In the dull December liglit, 

And work — Avork — work, 
When the weather is warm and bright — 
While underneath the eaves 

The brooding swallows cling, 
As if to show me their sunny backs, 

And twit me with the spring. 

'' ! but to breathe the breath 
Of the cowslip and primrose sweet — 

With the sky above my head, 
And the grass beneath my feet, 
For only one short hour 

To feel as I used to feel, 
Before I knew the woes of want. 

And the walk tliat costs a meal ! 

*' ! but for one short hour ! 

A respite however brief ! 
No blessed leisure for love or hope, 

But only time for grief ! 
A little Aveeping would ease my heart, 

But in their briny bed 
My tears must stop, for every drop 
" Hinders needle and thread ! " 

With fingers weary and worn, 

With eyelids heavy and red, 
A woman sat in unwomanly rags, 

Plying her needle and thread — 
Stitch ! stitch ! stitch ! 

In poverty, hunger, and dirt, , 

And still with a voice of dolorous pitch, — 
Would that its tone could reach the rich ! — 

She sang this '' Song of the Shirt ! " 



THE LADY'S DREAM. 



The lady lay in her bed, 

Her couch so warm and soft, 
But her sleep was restless and broken still j 

For, turning often and oft 
From side to side, she muttered and moaned, 

And tossed her arms aloft. 

At last she startled up, 

And gazed on the vacant air, 
With a look of awe, as if she saw 

Some dreadful phantom there — 
And then in the pillow she buried her face 

From visions ill to bear. 

The very curtain shook. 

Her terror was so extreme ; 
And the light that fell on the broidered quht 

Kept a tremulous gleam ; 
And her voice was hollow, and shook as she cried 

" 0, me ! that awful dream ! 

'' That weary, weary walk, 

In the church-yard's dismal ground ! 
And those horrible things, Avith shady wings 

That came and flitted round, — 
Death, death, and nothing but death, 

In every sight and sound ! 



THE lady's dream. 35 

** And, ! those maidens young, 

"Who wrought in that dreary room, 
With figures drooping and spectres thin, 

And cheeks without a bloom ; — 
And the voice that cried, ' For the pomp of pride. 

We haste to an early tomb ! 

*' ' For the pomp and pleasure of pride, 

We toil like Afric slaves, 
And only to earn a home, at last. 

Where yonder cypress waves ; ' 
Aod then they pointed — I never saw 

A ground so full of graves ! 

'* And still the coffins came. 

With their sorrowful trains and slow ; 

Coffin after coffin still, 

A sad and sickening show ; 

From grief exempt, I never had dreamt 
Of such a world of woe ! 

^' Of the hearts that daily break, 

Of the tears that hourly fall. 
Of the many, many troubles of life, 

That grieve this earthly ball — 
Disease, and Hunger, and Pain, and Want, 

But now I dreamt of them all ! 

^ For the blind and the cripple were there. 

And the babe that pined for bread, 
And th3 houseless man, and the widow poor 

Who begged — to bury the dead ; 
The naked, alas ! that I might have clad, 

The fiimished I might have fed ! 



36 THE lady's dream. 

'' The sorrow I might have soothed. 

And the unregarded tears ; 
For many a thronging shape was there, 

From long-forgotten years, — 
Ay, even the poor rejected Moor, 

Who raised my childish fears ! 

'• Each pleading look, that long ago 
I scanned with a heedless eye, 

Each face was gazing as plainly there 
As when I passed it by : 

Woe, woe for me if the past should be 
Thus present when I die ! 

'^ No need of sulphureous lake, 

No need of fiery coal, 
But only that crowd of human kind 

Who wanted pity and dole — 
In everlasting retrospect — 

Will wring my sinful soul 1 

'• Alas ! I have walked through life 

Too heedless where I trod ; 
Nay, helping to trample my fellow-worm, 

And fill the burial sod — 
Forgetting that even the sparrow falls 

Not unmarked of God ! 

^' I drank the richest draughts ; 

And ate whatever is good — 
Fish, and flesh, and fowl, and fruit. 

Supplied my hungry mood ; 
But I never remembered the wretched ones 

That starve for want of food ! 



THE lady's dream. 37 

"I dressed as the noble dress, 

In cloth of silver and gold, 
With silk, and satin, and costly furs. 

In many an ample fold ; 
But I never remembered the naked limbs 

That froze with winter's cold. 

*' The wounds I migh.t have healed ! 

The human sorrow and smart ! 
And yet it never Avas in my soul 

To play so ill a part : 
But e^al is wrought by want of thought, 

As well as want of heart ! " 

She clasped her fervent hands. 

And the tears began to stream ; 
Large, and bitter, and fast they fell, 

Remorse was so extreme ; 
And yet, 0, yet, that many a dame 

Would dream the Ladys Dream ! 



THE WORKHOUSE CLOCK 



AN ALLEGORY. 



There 's a murmur in the air. 
A noise in every street — 
The murmur of many tongues, 
The noise of numerous feet — 
While round the workhouse door 
The laboring classes flock, 
For why ? — the overseer of the poor 
Is setting the workhouse clock. 

Who does not hear the tramp 
Of thousands speeding along 
Of either sex and various stamp, 
Sickly, crippled, or strong, 
Walking, limping, creeping 
From court, and alley, and lane, 
But all in one direction sweeping, 
Like rivers that seek the main 7 
Who does not see them sally 
From mill, and garret, and room. 
In lane, and court, and alley, 
From homes in poverty's lowest valley, 
Furnished with shuttle and loom — 
Poor slaves of Civilization's galley — 
And in the road and footAvays rally. 
As if for the day of doom? 



THE WORKHOUSE CLOCK. 39 

Some, of hardly human form, 
Stunted, crooked, and crippled by t/jil ; 
Dingy "with smoke and dust and oil, 
And smirched besides with vicious soil. 
Clustering, mustering, all in a swarm. 
Father, mother, and careful child, 
Looking as if it had never smiled — 
The seamstress, lean, and weary, and wan, 
With only the ghosts of garments on — 
The weaver, her sallow neighbor, 
The grim and sooty artisan ; 
Every soul — child, woman, or man, 
Who lives — or dies — by labor. 

Stirred by an overwhelming zeal. 

And social impulse, a terrible throng ! 

Leaving shuttle, and needle, and wheel, 

Furnace, and grindstone, spindle, and reel, 

Thread, and yarn, and iron, and steel — 

Yea, rest and the yet untasted meal — 

Gushing, rushing, crushing along, 

A very torrent of Man ! 

Urged by the sighs of sorrow and TVTOng 

Grown at last to a hurricane strong. 

Stop its course who can ! 

Stop who can its onward course 

And iiTCsistible moral force ; 

! vain and idle dream ! 

For surely as men are all akin. 

Whether of fair or sable skin, 

According to Nature's scheme, 

That human movement contains within 

A blood-power stronger than steam. 



40 THE WORKHOUSE CLOCK. 

Onward, onward, with hasty feet, 
They swarm — and westward still — 
Masses born to drink and eat. 
But starving amidst WhitechapcFs meat. 
And famishing down Cornhill ! 
Through the Poultry — but still unfed — 
Christian cnarity, hang your head ! 
Hungry — passing the Street of Bread ; 
Thirsty — the Street of Milk ; 
Kao'sed — beside the Ludo;ate mart, 
So gorgeous, through mechanic art, 
With cotton, and wool, and silk ! 

At last, before that door 

That bears so many a knock 

Ere ever it opens to sick or poor, 

Like sheep they huddle and flock — 

And would that all the good and wise 

Could see the million of hollow eyes. 

With a gleam derived from hope and tlie skies, 

Upturned to the workhouse clock ! 

O ! that the parish powers. 

Who regulate labor's hours, 

The daily amount of human trial. 

Weariness, pain, and self-denial. 

Would turn from the artificial dial 

That striketli ten or eleven, 

And go, for once, by that older one 

That stands in the light of Nature's sun, 

And takes its time from Heaven ! 



HEPtO AND LEANDER. 



TO S T. COLERIBGB. 

It is not with a hope mj feeble praise 

Can add one moment's honor to thy own, 

That with thy mighty name I grace these lays ] 

I seek to glorify myself alone : 

For that some precious favor thou hast shown 

To my endeavor in a bygone time, 

And by this token I would have it known 

Thou art my friend, and friendly to my rhyme! 

It is my dear ambition now to climb 

Still higher in thy thought, — if my bold pen 

May thrust on contemplations more sublime. — 

But I am thirsty for thy praise, for when 

We gain applauses from the great in name, 

We seem to be partakers of their fame. 



HERO AND LEANDER. 



Bards of old ! what sorrows have ye sung 
And tragic stories, chronicled in stone, — 
Sad Philomel restored her ravished tongue, 
And transformed Niobe in dumbness shown ; 
SAveet Sappho on her love forever calls, 
And Hero on the drowned Leander falls ! 

Was it that spectacles of sadder plights 
Should make our blisses relish the more high ? 
Then all fair dames, and maidens, and true knights, 
Whose flourished fortunes prosper in Love's eye, 
Weep here, unto a tale of ancient grief, 
Traced from the course of an old bas-relief. 

There stands Abydos ! — here is Sestos' steep, 
Hard by the gusty margin of the sea, 
Where sprinkling waves continually do leap ; 
And that is where those famous lovers be, 
A builded glooin shot up into the gray. 
As if the first tall watch-t(»wer of the day. 

Lo ! how the lark soars upward and is gone ! 
Turning a spirit as he nears the sky. 
His voice is heard, though body there is none, 
And rain-like music scatters from on high ; 
But Love would follow with a falcon spite. 
To pluck the minstr'4 from his dewy height. 



44 HERO AND LEANDER. 

For Love Imth fi-amcd a ditty of regrets, 
Tuned to tlie hollow sobbings on the shore, 
A vexin'i" sense, that with like music frets. 
And chimes this dismal burthen o'er and o'er. 
Saying, Leander's joys are past and spent. 
Like stars extinguished in the firmament. 

For ere the golden crevices of morn 

Let in those regal luxuries of light, 

Which all the variable east adorn, 

And hancT rich frino-es on the skirts of nio;ht, 

Leander, weaning from sweet Hero's side, 

Must leave a widow where he found a bride. 

Hark ! how the billows beat upon the sand ! 
Like pawing steeds impatient of delay ; 
Meanwhile their rider, lingering on" the land, 
Dallies with Love, and holds farew^ell at bay 
A too short span. — How tedious slow is grief ! 
But parting renders time both sad and brief. 

''Alas ! (he sighed) that this first glimpsing light. 

Which makes tlie wide world tenderly appear, 

Should be the burning signal for my fiight, 

From all the world's best image, which is here; 

Whose very shadow, in my fond compare. 

Shines far more bright than Beauty's self elsewhere/ 

Their cheeks are white as blossoms of the dark, 
AVhose leaves close up and show the outward pale, 
And those fair mirrors ^vhere their joys did spark, 
All dim and tarnished with a dreary veil. 
No more to kindle till the ni<>;ht's return, 
Like stars replenished at Joy's golden urn. 



HERO AND LEANDER. 

Even tliu.s tlicy creep into the spectral gray, 
That cramps the hiiulscapc in its narrow brim, 
As when two sliadows by old Lethe stray, 
He clasping her and she entwining him ; 
Like trees wind-parted that embrace anon, 
True love so often goes before 'tis gone. 

For what rich merchant but will pause in fear, 
To trust his wealth to the unsafe abyss 7 
So Hero dotes upon her treasure here, 
And sums the loss with many an anxious kiss, 
Whilst her fond eyes grow dizzy in her head, 
Fear aggravating fear with shows of dread. 

She thinks how many have been sunk and drowned, 
And spies their snow-white bones below the deep. 
Then calls huiie cono;rem;ated monsters round, 
And plants a rock wherever he would leap ; 
Anon she dwells on a fantjistic dream, 
Which she interprets of that fatal stream. 

Saying, " That honeyed fly I saw was thee, 
Which lighted on a water-lily's cup. 
When, lo ! the flower, enamored of my bee, 
Closed on him suddenly and locked him up. 
And he was smothered in her drenching dew ; 
Therefore this day thy drowning I shall rue.'* 

But next, remembering her virgin fame, 

She clips him in her arms and bids him go. 

But seeing him break loose repents her shame. 

And plucks him back upon her bosom's snow ; 

And tears unfix her iced resolve again, 

As steadfast frosts are thawed by showers of )-a)u 



J(3 UERO AND LEANDER. 

for a type of parting ! — Love to love 
Is like the fond attraction of two spheres, 
Which needs a godlike effort to remove, 
And then sink down their sunny atmospheres 
In rain and darkness on each rumed heart, 
Nor yet their melodies will sound apart. 

So brave Leander sunders from -his bride ; 
The wrenching pang disparts his soul in twain ; 
Half stays with her, half goes towards the tide, — 
X And life must ache until they join again. 

Now wouldst thou know the wideness of the wound 
Mete eyery step he takes upon the ground. 

And for the agony and bosom- throe, 

Let it be measured by the wide vast air, 

For that is infinite, and so is w^oe, 

Since parted lovers breathe it everywhere. 

Look how it heaves Leander "s laboring chest, 

Panting, at poise, upon a rocky crest ! 

From which he leaps into the scooping brine, 
That shocks his bosom w^ith a double chill ; 
Because, all hours, till the slow sun's decline, 
That cold divorcer will betwixt them still ; 
• Wherefore he likens it to Styx' foul tide. 
Where life grows death upon the other side. 

Then sadly he confronts his two-fold toil 
Against rude weaves and an unwilling mind, 
AVishing, alas ! with the stout rower's toil. 
That like a rower he might gaze behind, 
And watch that lonely statue he hath left 
On her bleak summit, ^veeping and bereft ! 



HERO AND LEANDER. 47 

Yet turning oft. lie sees her troubled locks 
Pursue him still the furthest that they may ; 
Her marble arms that overstretch the rocks, 
And her pale passioned hands tliat seem to pray 
In dumb petition to the gods above : 
Love prays devoutly when it prays for love ! 

Then with deep sighs he bloAVS away the wave, 
That hangs superiluous tears upon his cheek, 
And bans his labor like a ho})eless slave, 
That, chained in hostile galley, faint and weak, 
Plies on despairing through the restless foam, 
Thoughtful of his lost love, and far-off home. 

The drowsy mist before him chill and dank, 

Like a dull lethargy o'erleans the sea, 

When he rows on against the utter blank, 

Steering as if to dim eternity, — 

Like Love's frail ghost departing Avith the dawn ; 

A failing shadow in the twilight drawn. 

And soon is gone, — or nothing \ ut a faint 
And failing image in the eye of thought ; 
That mocks his model with an after-paint, 
And stains an atom like the shape she sought j 
Then with her earnest vows she hopc^s to fee 
The old and hoary majesty of sea. 

" King of waves, and brother of high Jove. 
Preserve my sumless venture there afloat ; 
A woman's heart, and its whole wealth cf love, 
Are all embarked upon that little boat; 
Nay, but two loves, two lives, a double fate, 
A perilous voyage for so dear a freight. 



48 nERO AND LEANDER. 

*' It .Vvuy.>L'JUS mariners be stained with crime, 
Shake noi in awful rage thy lioary locks . 
Lay by tly storms until another time. 
Lest my fi ail bark be dashed against the rocks : 
Or rather mnoothe thy deeps that he may fly 
Like Love jtiiraself, upon a seeming sky ! 

*' Let all thy herded monsters sleep beneath, 

Nor gore him with crooked tusks, or wreathed horns ; 

Let no fierce sharks destroy him with their teeth, 

Nor spine-fish wound him with their venomed thorns 

But if he faint, and timely succor lack. 

Let ruthful dolphins rest him on their back. 

" Let no false dimpling whirlpools suck him in, 
Nor slimy quicksands smother his sweet breath ; 
Let no jagged corals tear his tender skin, 
Nor mountain billows bury him in death ; " — 
And with that thought forestalling her own fears, 
She drowned his painted image in her tears. 

By this, the climbing sun, with rest repaired 
Looked through the gold embrasures of the sky, 
And asked the drowsy world how she had fared ; — 
The drowsy world shone brightened in reply ; 
And smiling; off her foo-s, his slantino; beam 
Spied young Leander in the middle stream. 

His fiice was pallid, but the hectic morn 
Had hung a lying crimson on his cheeks. 
And slanderous sparkles in his eyes forlorn ; 
So death lies ambushed in consumptive streaks; 
But inward grief was writhing o'er its task, 
As heart-sick jesters weep behind the mask. 



HERO AND LEANDER. 49 

He thought of Hero and the lost delight, 
Her last embracings, and the space between ; 
He thouo-ht of Hero and the future niojht, 
Her speechless rapture and enamored mien, 
When, lo ! before him, scarce two galleys' space, 
His thoughts confronted with another face ! 

Her aspect 's like a moon divinely fair. 
But makes the midnight darker that it lies on ; 
'T is so beclouded with her coal-black hair 
That densely skirts her luminous horizon, 
Making her doubly fair, thus darkly set, 
As marble lies advantaged upon jet. 

She 's all too bright, too argent, and too pale, 

To be a woman ; — but a woman's double, 

Reflected on the wave so faint and frail. 

She tops the billows like an air-blown bubble j 

Or dim creation of a morning dream. 

Fair as the w^ave-bleached lily of the stream. 

The very rumor strikes his seeing dead : 

Great beauty like great fear first stuns the sense : 

He knows not if her lips be blue or red. 

Nor of her eyes can give true evidence : 

Like murder's witness swcJoning in the court, 

His sight falls senseless by its own report. 

Anon resuming, it declares her eyes 

Are tinct with azure, like two crystal wells 

That drink the blue complexion of the skies, 

Or pearls out-peeping from their silvery shells : 

Her pohshed brow, it is an ample plain. 

To lodge vast contemplations of the main. 

4 



50 HERO AND LEANDEK. 

Her lips might corals seem, bat corals near, 
Btray through her hair like blossoms on a bower; 
And o'er the weaker red still domineer, 
And make it pale by tribute to more power ; 
Her rounded cheeks are of still paler hue, 
Touched by the bloom of water, tender blue. 

Thus he beholds her rocking on the water, 
Under the glossy umbrage of her hair, 
Like pearly Amphitrite's fairest daughter, 
Naiad, or Nereid, or Siren fair, 
Mislodging music in her pitiless breast, 
A nioiitino-ale within a falcon's nest. 



"o " o' 



They say there Ije such maidens in the deep, 
Charming poor mariners, that all too near 
By mortal lullabies fall dead asleep, 
As drowsy men are poisoned through the ear ; 
Therefore Leander's fears beo;in to uro;e, 
This snowy SAvan is come to sing his dirge. 

At wdiich he falls into a deadlj'- chill. 
And strains his eyes upon hor lips apart ; 
Fearing each breath to feel that prelude slnill, 
Pierce through his marrow, like a breath-blown dart 
Shot sudden from an Indian's hollow cane. 
With mortal venom fraught, and fiery pain. 

Here, then, poor wretch, how he begins to crowd 
A thousjTjid thoughts within a pulse's space ; 
There seemed so brief a pause of life allowed, 
His mind stretched universal, to embrace 
The whole wide world, in an extreme farewell, — 
A moment's musing — but an age to tell. 



HERO AND LEANDER. 51 

For there stood Hero, widowed at a glance, 
The foreseen sum of many a tedious fact, 
Pale cheeks, dim eyes, and withered countenance^ 
A wasted ruin that no wasting lacked ; 
Time's tragic consequents ere time began, 
A world of sorrow in a tear-drop's span. 

A moment's thinking is an hour in words, — 
An hour of words is little for some woes ; 
Too little bi'eatliing a long life affords, 
For love to paint itself by perfect shows ; 
Then let his love and grief unwionged lie dumb, 
Whilst Fear, and that it fears, together come. 

As when the crew, hard by some jutty cape. 
Struck pale and panicked by the billows' roar, 
Lay by all timely measures of escape, 
And let their bark ^o drivino; on the shore 
So fraved Leander, drifting]: to his wreck, 
Gazing on Scylla, falls upon her neck. 

For he hath all forgot the swimmer's art, 
The rower's cunning, and the pilot's skill, 
Letting his arms fall down in languid part. 
Swayed by the waves, and nothing by his will^ 
Till soon he jars against that glo3.sy skin. 
Solid like <ji;las3. thou'j;h seemino;lv as thin. 

Lo ! how she stjirtles at the warning shock 
And straightway girds him to lier radiant brejist, 
More like his safe smooth harbor than his rock ; 
Poor wretch, he is so faint and toil-opprest, 
lie cannot loose him from his grappling foe, 
Whether for love or hate, she lets not go. 



J 



52 UERO AND LEANDER. 

His eyes are blinded with the sleety brine, 

His ears are deafened with the wildering noise ) 

He asks the purpose of her fell design, 

But foamy AYa^'es choke up his struggling voice ; 

Under the ponderous sea his body dips, 

And Hero's name dies bubbling on his lips. 

Look how a man is lowered to his grave ; 
A yearning hollow in the green earth's lap ; 
So he is sunk into the yawning wave, 
The plunging sea fills up the watery gap ; 
Anon he is all gone, and nothing seen. 
But likeness of green turf and hillocks green. 

And where he swam the constant sun lies sleeping, 
Over the verdant plain that makes his bed ; 
And all the noisy waves go freshly leaping, 
Like gamesome boys over the church-yard dead ; 
The light in vain keeps looking for his face, 
Now screaming sea-fowl settle in his place. 

Yet weep and watch for him, though all in vain ! 
Ye moaning billows, seek him as ye wander ! 
Ye gazing sunbeams, look for him again ! 
Ye winds, grow hoarse with asking for Leander ! 
Ye did but spare him for more cruel rape, 
Sea-storm and ruin in a female shape ! 

She saj^s "tis love hath bribed her to this deed, 
The glancing of his eyes did so bewitch her. 
bootless theft ! unprofitable meed ! 
Love's treasury is sacked, but she no richer ; 
The sparkles of his eyes are cold and dead, 
And all his golden looks are turned to lead ! 



HERO AND LEANDER. 6? 

She holds the casket, but her simple hand 
ILith spilled its dearest jewel by the way ; 
She hath life's empty garment at command, 
]>ut her own death lies covert in the prey ; 
As if a thief should steal a taiiital vest, 
Some dead man's spoil, and sicken of his pest. 

Now she compels him to her deeps below. 

Hiding his face beneath her plenteous hair. 

Which jealously she shakes all round her brow, 

For dread of envy, though no eyes are there 

But seals', and all brute tenants of the deep, 

Which heedless through the wave their journeys keep 

Down and still downward through the dusky green 

She bore him, murmuring with joj'ous haste 

In too rash ignorance, as he had Ijcen 

Born to the texture of that watery waste ; 

That which she breathed and sighed, the emerald wave, 

How could her pleasant home become his grave ! 

Down and still downward througli the dusky green 
She bore her treasure, with a face too nigh 
To' mark how life was altered in its mien, 
Or how the light grew torpid in his eye. 
Or how his pearly breath, unprisonod there. 
Flew up to join the universal air. 

She could not miss the throbbings of his heart, 
Whilst her own pulse so wantoned in its joy ; 
She could not guess he struggled to depart, 
And when he strove no more, the hapless boy ! 
She read his mortal stillness for content, 
Feeling no fear where only love ^Yas meant. 



54 HERO AND LEANDER. 

Soon she alights upon her ocean-floor, 

And straight unyokes lier arms from her fair prize , 

Then on his lovely face begins to pore, 

As if to glut her soul ; --her hungry eyes 

Have grown so jealous of her arms' delight ; 

It seems, she hath no other sense but sight. 

But, 0, sad marvel ! 0, most bitter strange I 
What dismal magic makes his cheek so pale ] 
Why will he not embrace, — why not exchange 
Her kindly kisses ; — wherefore not exhale 
Some odorous message from life's ruby gates, 
Where she his first sweet embassy awaits? 

Her eyes, poor w^atchers, fixed upon his looks, 
Are grappled with a Avonder near to grief, 
As one, who pores on undeciphered books. 
Strains vain surmise, and dodges w^ith belief j 
So she keeps gazing with a mazy thought, 
Framing a thousand doubts that end in naught. 

Too stern inscription for a page so young. 
The dark translation of his look was death ! 
But death was written in an alien tongue, 
And learning was not by to give it breath ; 
So one deep woe sleeps burietl in its seal, 
Which Time, untimely, hasteth to reveal. 

Meanwhile she sits unconscious of her hap, 
Nursing Death's marble effigy, which there 
With heavy head lies pillowed in her lap, 
And elbows all unhinn;ed ; — his sleekino; hair 
Creeps o'er her knees, and settles where his hand 
Leans with lax fingers crooked against the sand ; 



HERO AND LEANDER. 55 

And there lies spread in many an oozy trail, 
Like glossy weeds hung from a chalky base, 
That shows no whiter than his brow is pale ; 
So soon the wintry death had bleached his face 
Into cold marble, — with blue chilly shades, 
Showing wherein the freezy blood pervades. 

And o'er his steadfast cheek a furrowed pain 
Hath set, and stiffened like a storm in ice, 
Showing by drooping lines the deadly strain 
Of mortal anguish ; — yet you might gaze twice 
Ere Death it seemed, and not his cousin, Sleep, 
That through those creviced lids did underpeep. 

But all that tender bloom about his eyes, 

Is Death's own violets, which his utmost rite 

It is to scatter when the red rose dies ; 

For blue is chilly, and akin to white : 

Also he leaves some tinges on his lips. 

Which he hath kissed with such cold frosty nips. 

" Surely," quoth she, '* he sleeps, the senseless thing, 
Oppressed and faint with toiling in the stream ! " 
Therefore she will not mar his rest, but sing ' 
So low, her tune shall mingle with his dream ; 
Meanwhile, her lily fingers tasks to twine 
His uncrispt locks uncurling in the brine. 

" lovely boy ! " — thus she attuned her voice,— 
"Welcome, thrice welcome, to a sea-maid's home, 
My love-mate thou shalt be, and true heart's choice ; 
How have I longed such a twin-self should come,— 
A lonely thing, till this sweet chance befell, 
My hen.rt kept sighing like a hollow shell. 



56 HERO AND LEANDEll. 

'' Here thou slialt live beneath this secret dome, 

An ocean-bower ; defended by the shade 

Of quiet waters, a cool emerakl gloom 

To lap thee all about. Nay, be not frayed 

Those are but shady fishes that sail by 

Like antic clouds across my liquid sky ! 

" Look how the sunbeam burns upon their scales. 
And shows rich glimpses of their Tyrian skins ; 
They flash small lightnings from their vigorous tails. 
And winkino' stars are kindled at their fins ; 
These shall divert thee in thy weariest mood, 
And seek thy hand for gamesomeness and food. 

" Lo ! those green pretty leaves with tassel bells. 
My flowerets those, that never pine for drowth ; 
Myself did plant them in the dappled shells, 
That drink the wave with such a rosy mouth, — 
Pearls wouldst thou have beside ? crystals to shine 1 
I had such treasures once, — now they are thine. 

" Now. lay thine ear against this golden sand, 
And thou shalt hear the music of the sea, 
Those hollow tunes it plays against the land, — ■ 
Is 't not a rich and wondrous melody 7 
1 have lain hours, and fancied in its tone 
I heard the languages of ages gone ! 

" I too can sing when it shall please thy choice, 
And breathe soft tunes through a melodious shell, 
Though heretofore I have but set my voice 
To some long sighs, grief harmonized, to tell 
HoAV desolate I fared ; — but this sweet change 
Will add new notes of gladness to my range ! 



HERO AND LEANDER. 57 

" Or bid me speak, and I will tell thee tales, 
Which I have fraiired out of the noise of waves ; 
Ere now, I have communed with senseless gales, 
And held vain collo(j[uies with barren caves ; 
But I could talk to thee whole days and days, 
Only to word my love a thousand ways. 

'' But if thy lips will bless me with their speech. 
Then ope, sweet oracles ! and I '11 be mute ; 
I was born ignorant for thee to teach, 
Nay, all love's lore to thy dear looks impute ; 
Then ope thine eyes, fair teachers, by whose light 
I saw to give away my heart aright ! " 

But cold and deaf the sullen creature lies. 
Over her knees, and with concealing clay 
Like hoarding Avarice locks up his eyes, 
And leaves her world impoverished of day ; 
Then at his cruel lips she bends to plead. 
But there the door is closed against her need. 

Surely he sleeps, — so her false wits infer ! 
Alas ! poor sluggard, ne'er to wake again ! 
Surely he sleeps, yet without any stir 
That might denote a vision in his brain ; 
Or if he does not sleep, he feigns too long, 
Twice she hath reached the ending of her sor^g. 

Therefore, 't is time she tells him to uncover 
Those radiant jesters, and disperse her fears, 
Whereby her April flice is shaded over. 
Like rainy clouds just ripe for showering tears ; 
Nay, if he will not wake, so poor she gets, 
Herself must rob those locked up cabinets. 



58 HERO AND LEANDER. 

With that she stoops above his brow, and bids 
Her biisj hands forsake hisr tangled hair, 
And tenderly lift uj) those coifer-lids, 
That she may gaze upon the jewels there. 
Like babes that pluck an early bud apart, 
To know the dainty color of its heart. 

Now, picture one, soft creeping to a bed. 
Who slowly parts the fringe-hung canopies. 
And then starts back to find the sleeper dead ; 
So she looks in on his uncovered eyes, 
And seeing all Avithin so drear and dark. 
Her own bright soul dies in her like a spark. 

Backward she falls, like a pale prophetess, 
Under the swoon of holy divination : 
And Avhat had all surpassed her simple guess, 
She now resolves in this dark revelation ; 
Death's very mystery, — oblivious death ; — 
Long sleep, — deep night, and an entranced breath. 

Yet life, though wounded sore, not wholly slain. 
Merely obscured, and not extinguished, lies ; 
Her breath that stood at ebb, soon flows a^ain, 
Heaving her hollow breast with heavy sighs, 
And light comes in and kindles up the gloom, 
To light her spirit from its transient tomb. 

Then like the sun, awakened at new dawn, 
With pale bewildered face she peers about, 
And spies blurred images obscurely drawn. 
Uncertain shadows in a haze of doubt ; 
But her true grief grows shapely by degrees, 
A perished creature lying on her knees. 



HERO AXD LEANDEH. 59 

And now she knows how that old Murther preys, 
Whose quarry on her lap lies newly slain : 
How he roams all abroad and grimly slays, 
Like a lean tii2;er in Love's own domain ; 
Parting fond mates, — and oft in flowery lawns 
Bereaves mild mothers of their milky fawns. 

0, too dear knowledge ! 0, pernicious earning ! 
Foul curse engraven upon beauty's page ! 
Even now the sorrow of that deadly learning 
Ploughs up her brow, like an untimely age, 
And on her cheek stamps verdict of death's truth 
By canker blights upon the bud of youth ! 

For as unwholesome Avinds decay the leaf, 
So her cheeks' rose is perished by her sighs, 
And withers in the sickly breath of grief; 
Whilst unacquainted rheum bedims her eyes, 
Tears, virgin tears, the first that ever leapt 
From those young lids, now plentifully wept. 

Whence being shed, the liquid crystalline 
Drops straightway down, refusing to paitake 
In gross admixture with the baser brine, 
But shrinks and hardens into pearls opaque. 
Hereafter to be worn on arms and ears ; 
So one maid's trophy is another's tears ! 

foul Arch-Shadow, thou old cloud of Night, 
(Tims in her frenzy she began to wail,) 
Thou blank oblivion — blotter out of light, 
Life's ruthless murderer, and dear Love's bale ! 
Why hast thou left thy havoc incomplete. 
Leaving me here, and slaying the more sweet 7 



60 HERO AND LEANDER., 

Li) ! what a lovely ruin tliou hast made ! 
Alas ! alas ! thou hast no eyes to sec, 
And blindly slew'st him in misguided shade. 
Would I had lent my doting sense to thee ! 
But now I turn to thee, a willing mark, 
Thine arrow^s miss me in the aimless dark ! 

'' 0, doubly cruel ! — twice misdoing spite. 

But I will guide thee with my helping eyes, 

Or walk the wide world through, devoid of sight. 

Yet thou shalt know me by my many sighs. 

Nay, then thou sliouldst have spared my rose, false Death, 

And known Love's flower by smelling his sweet breath ; 

'^ Or, Avhen thy furious rage was round him dealing, 
Love should have groAvn from touching of his skin ; 
But like cold marble thou art all unfeeling, 
And hast no ruddy springs of warmth within, 
And being but a sha.pe of freezing bone. 
Thy touching only turned my love to stone ! 

" And here, alas ! he lies across my knees. 
With cheeks still colder than the stilly wave, 
The light beneath his eyelids seems to freeze ; 
Here then, since Love is dead and lacks a grave, 
0, come and dig it in my sad heart's core — 
That wound will bring a balsam for its sore ! 

" For art thoa not a sleep where sense of .11 
Lies stingless, like a sense benumbed with cold, 
Healing all hurts only with sleep's good-w^ill? 
k50 shall I slumber, and perchance behold 
My living love in dreams, — 0, happy night, 
That lets me company his banished spright ! 



HERO AND LEANDER. 61 

*' 0, poppy death ! — sweet poisoner of sleep ; 
Where shall I seek for thee, oblivious drucr, 
That I may steep thee in my drink, and creep 
Out of life's coil ? Look, Idol ! how I hug 
Thy dainty image in this strict embrace, 
And kiss this clay-cold model of thy face ! 

'' Put out; put out these sun-consuming lamps ! 
I do but read my sorrows by their shine ; 
0, come and quench them with thy oozy damps, 
And let my darkness intermix Avitli thine ; 
Since love is blinded, Avherefore should I see '\ 
Now love is death, — death will* be love to me ! 

" Away, away, this vain complaining breath, 
It does but stir the troubles that I weep ; 
Let it be hushed and quieted, sweet Death ; 
The wind must settle ere the wave can sleep, — 
Since love is silent I would fain be mute ; 
0, Death, be gracious to ray dying suit ! " 

Thus fiir she pleads, but pleading naught avails her, 
For Death, her sullen burthen, deigns no heed ; 
Then with dumb craving arms, since darkness fails her, 
She prays to heaven's fair light, as if her need 
Inspired her there Avcre gods to pity pain, 
Or end it, — but she lifts her arms in vain ! 

Poor gilded Grief ! the subtle light by this 
With mazy gold creeps through her watery mine. 
And, diving downward through the green abyss, 
Lights up her palace with an amber shine ; 
There, falling on her arms, — the crystal skin 
Reveals the rubv tide that fares within. 



62 nERO AITD LEANDER. 

Look how the fulsome beam would hang a gloiy 
On her dark hair, but the dark hairs repel it : 
Look how the perjured glow suborns a story 
On her pale lips, but lips refuse to tell it ; 
Grief will not swerve from grief, however told 
On coral lips, or charactered in gold ; 

Or else, thou maid ! safe anchored on Love's neck, 
Listing the hapless doom of young Leander, 
Thou wouldst not shed a tear for that old wreck, 
Sitting secure where no wild surges Avander : 
Whereas the woe moves on w^ith tragic pace. 
And shows its sad reflection in thy face. 

Thus having travelled on, and tracked the tale, 
Like the due course of an old bas-relief. 
Where Tragedy pursues her progress pale. 
Brood here a while upon that sea-maid's grief, 
And take a deeper imprint from the frieze 
Of that young Fate, with Death upon her kneea. 

Then whilst the melancholy Muse withal 
Resumes her music in a sadder tone. 
Meanwhile the sunbeam strikes upon the wail, 
Conceive that lovely siren to live on. 
Even as Hope whispered, the Promethean light 
Would kindle up the dead Leander's spright. 

'^ 'T is light," she says, " that feeds the glittering stars, 
And those were stars set in his heavenly brow ; 
But this salt cloud, this cold sea- vapor, mars 
Their radiant breathing, and obscures them now ; 
Therefore I '11 lay him in the clear blue nir, 
A.nd see how these dull orbs will kindle there." 



UERO AND LEANDER. 63 

Swiftly as dolphins glide, or swifter yet, 
With dead Leander in her fond arms' fold, 
She cleaves the meshes of that radiant net 
The sun hath twined above of liquid gold, 
Nor slacks till on the margin of the land 
She lays his body on the glowing sand. 

There, like a pearly waif, just past the reach 
Of foamy billows he lies cast. Just then, 
Some listless fishers, straying down the beach. 
Spy out this wonder. Thence the curious men, 
Low crouching, creep into a thicket brake. 
And watch her doings till their rude hearts ache. 

First she begins to chafe him till she faints, 
Then fill Is upon his mouth with kisses many. 
And sometimes pauses m her own complaints 
To list liis breathing, but there is not any, — 
Then looks into his eyes where no light dwells • 
Light makes no pictures in such muddy wells. 

The hot sun parches his discovered eyes. 

The hot sun beats on his discolored limbs, 

The sand is oozy whereupon he lies, 

Soiling his fairness ; — then away she swims. 

Meaninor to o;ather him a daintier bed, 

Plucking the cool fresh weeds, brown, green, and red 

But, simple-witted thief, while she dives under, 
Another robs her of her amorous theft ; 
The ambushed fishermen creep forth to plunder, 
And steal the unwatched treasure she lias left ; 
Only his void impression dints the sands : 
Leander is purloined by stealthy hands ! 



64 HERO AND LEANDER. 

Lo ! how she shudders off the beaded wave ! 
Like Grief all over tears, and senseless fiills, 
His void imprint seems hollowed for her grave ; 
Then, rising on her knees, looks round and calls 
On Hero ! Hero ! — having learned this name 
Of his last breath, she calls him bj the same. 

Then with her frantic hands she rends her hairs. 
And casts them forth, sad keepsakes, to the Avind, 
As if in plucking those she plucked her cares ; 
But grief lies deeper, and remains behind 
Like a barbed arrow, rankling in her brain, 
Turning her very thoughts to throbs of pain. 

Anon her tangled locks are left alone, 
And down upon the sand she meekly sits. 
Hard by the foam, as humble as a stone, 
Like an enchanted maid beside her wits, 
That ponders with a look serene and tragic, 
Stunned by the mighty mystery of magic. 

Or think of Ariadne's utter trance. 

Crazed by the flight of that disloyal traitor, 

Who left her gazing on the green expanse 

That swallowed up his track, — yet this would mate her, 

Even in the cloudy summit of her woe. 

When o'er the far sea-brim she saw him go. 

For even so she bows, and bends her gaze 

O'er the eternal waste, as if to sum 

Its waves by weary thousands all her days. 

Dismally doomed ! meanwhile the billows come, 

And coldly dabble with her quiet feet. 

Like any bleaching stones they wont to greet. 



HERO AND LKAXDEll. 66 

And thence into lier lap have boldly sprung, 

Washing her -weedy tresses to and fro, 

That round her cruuching knees have darkly hung ; 

But she sits careless of waves' ebb and flow, 

Like a lone beacon on a desert coast, 

Showing where all her hope was Avrecked and lost. 

Yet whether in the sea or vaulted sky, 

She knoweth not her love's abrupt resort. 

So like a shape of dreams he left her eye, 

Winking A\iih doubt. Meanwhile, the churls' report 

Has thronged the beach with many a curious face, 

That peeps upon her from its hiding-place. 

And here a head, and there a brow half seen, 

Dodges behind a rock. Here on his hands 

A mariner his crumpled cheeks doth lean 

Over a rugged crest. Another stands. 

Holding his harmful arrc w at the head. 

Still checked by human caution and strange dread. 

One stops his ears, — another close beholder 

Whispers unto the next his grave surmise ; 

This crouches down, — and just above his shoulder, 

A woman's pity saddens in her eyes, 

And prompts her to befriend that lonelj'' grief. 

With all sweet helps of sisterly relief 

And down the sunny beach she paces slowly. 
With many doubtful pauses by the way ; 
Grief hath an influence so hushed and holy, — 
Making her twice attempt, ere she can lay 
Her hand upon that sea-maid's shoulder Avhite, 
Which makes her startle up in wild afFiight. 
5 



f;6 HERO AND LEANDER. 

And. like ca seal, she leaps into the wave, 
That drowns the shrill remainder of her scream ; 
Anon the sea fills up the watery cave, 
And seals her exit with a foamy seam, — 
Leaving those baffled gazers on the beach, 
Turnmt>' in uncouth wonder each to each. 

Some watch, some call, some see her head emerge. 
Wherever a brown weed falls through the foam ; 
Some point to white eruptions of the surge : — 
But she is vanished to her shady home. 
Under the deep, inscrutable, — and there 
Weeps in a midnight made of her own hair. 

Now here the sighing winds, before unheard, 
Forth from their cloudy caves begin to blow, 
Tillall the surface of th-e deep is stirred, 
Like to the panting grief it hides below ; 
And heaven is covered ^\-ith a stormy rack 
Soiling the Avaters with its inky black. 

The screaming fowl resigns her finny prey, 
And labors shoreward with a bending wing, 
Rowing against the wind her toilsome way ; 
Meanwhile, the curling billows chafe, and fling 
Their dewy frost still further on the stones. 
That answer to the wind with hollow groans. 

And here and there a fisher's far-off bark 
Flies with the sun's last glimpse upon its sail, 
Like a bright flame amid the waters dark, 
Watched with the hope and fear of maidens pale, 
And anxious mothers that upturn their brows. 
Freighting the gusty wind with frequent vows, 



HERO AND LEANDER. 61 

For that the horrid deep has no sure track 
To guide love safe into his homely haven. 
And, lo ! the storm grows blacker in its wrath, 
O'er the dark billow brooding like a raven. 
That bodes of death and widow's sorrowing, 
Under the dusty covert of his wing. 

And so day ended. But no vesper spark 
Huno; forth its heavenly sii^n : but sheets of flame 
Played round the savage features of the dark, 
Making night horrible. That night, there came 
A weeping maiden to high Sestos' steep. 
And tore her hair and gazed upon the deep. 

And waved aloft her bright and ruddy torch, 
Whose flame the boastful wind so rudely fanned, 
That oft it would recoil, and basely scorch 
The tender covert of her sheltering hand ; 
Which yet, for love's dear sake, disdained retire, 
And, like a glorying martyr, braved the fire. 

For that was love's own sign and beacon guide 
Across the Hellespont's wide weary space. 
Wherein he nightly struggled with the tide ; 
Look what a red it forges on her face, 
As if she blushed at holding such a light. 
Even in the unseen presence of the night ! 

Whereas her tragic cheek is truly pale. 

And colder than the rude and rufiian air 

That howls into her ear a horrid tale 

Of storm, and wreck, and uttermost despair, 

Saying, " Lcander floats amid the sig-ge. 

And those are dismal waves that sing his dirge.'-' 



68 HERO AND LEANDEK. 

A.nd, hark ! — a grieving voice, trembling and faint, 
Blends with the liolloAV sobbings of the sea ; 
Like the sad music of a siren's plaint, 
But shriller than Leander's voice should be, 
Unless the wintry death had changed its tone, — 
Wherefore she thinks she hears his spirit moan. 

For now, upon each brief and breathless pause 
Made by the raging winds, it plainly calls 
On Hero ! Hero ! — whereupon she draws 
Close to the dizzy brink, that ne'er appalls 
Her brave and constant spirit to recoil. 
However the wild billows toss and toil. 

" ! dost thou live under the deep, deep sea ? 
I thought such love as thine could never die ; 
If thou hast gained an immortality 
From the kind pitying sea-god, so will I ; 
And this false cruel tide, that used to sever 
Our hearts, shall be our common home forever ! 

" There we will sit and sport upon one billow. 
And sing bur ocean-ditties all the day, 
And lie together onJ;he same green pillow, 
That curls above us with its dewy spray ^ 
And ever in one presence live and dwell. 
Like two twin pearls within the self-same shell.'' 

One moment, then, upon the dizzy verge 

She stands ; — with face upturned against the sky ; 

A moment more, upon the foamy surge 

She gazes, with a calm despairing eye ; 

Feeling that awful pause of blood and breath 

Which life endures when it confronts with death : — 



HERO AND LEANDER. C9 

Then from the giddy steep she madly springs, 

Grasping her maiden robes, that vainly kept 

Pantinor abroad, like unavailins; winfjs, 

To save her from her death. — The sea-maid wrpt, 

And in a crystal cave her corse enshrined ; 

No meaner sepulchre should Hero find ! 



LYCUS, THE CEXTAITR. 



TO J. H. REYNOLDS, ESQ. 

Mt Deae Reynolds : You will remember " Lycus." It was written in the pleasant 
spring-time of our friendship, and I am glad to maintain that association, by connect- 
ing your name with tha poem. It will gratify me to find that you regard it with the 
old partiality for the writings of each other which prevailed in those days. For my 
own sake, I must regret that your pen goes now into far other records than those 
whieh used to delight me. 

Your true friend and brother, 
, T. Hood. 



LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 

FROM AN UNROLLED MANUSCRIPT OF APOLLONIUS CURIUS. 



THE ARGUMENT. 



Lycus, detained by Circe in her magical dominion, is beloved by a Watel 
Nymph, who, desiring to render him immortal, has recourse to the Sorcer- 
ess. Circe gives her an incantation to pronounce, which should turn 
Lycus into a horse ; but the horrible effect of the charm causing her to 
break off in the midst, he becomes a Centaur. 

Who hath ever been lured and bound by a spell 

To wander, foredoomed, in that circle of hell 

Where Witchery works with her will like a god, 

Works more than the wonders of time at a nod, — - 

At a word, — at a touch, — at a flash of the eye ; 

But each form is a cheat, and each sound is a lie. 

Things born of a wish — to endure for a thought, 

Or last for long ages — to vanish to naught, 

Or put on new semblance 7 Jove, I had given 

The throne of a kinci-dom to know if that heaven 

And tlie earth and its streams were of Circe, or whether 

They kept the world's birth-day and brightened together ! 

For I loved them in terror, and constantly dreaded 

That the earth where I trod, and the cave where I bedded. 

The fice I might dote on, should live out the lease 

Of the charm that created, and suddenly cease: 

And I gave me to slumber, as if from one dream 

To another — each horrid — and drank of the stream 



"^4 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 

Like a first toste of blood, lest as water I quafied 

Swift poison, and never should breathe from the draught, — • 

Such drink as her own monarch-husband drained up 

When he pledged her, and Fate closed his ejes in the cup, 

And I plucked of the fruit with held breath, and a fear 

That the branch would start back and scream out in my ear; 

For once, at my suppering, I plucked in the dusk 

An apple, juice-gushing and fragrant of musk ; 

But bj daylight my fingers were crimsoned with gore, 

And the half-eaten fragment was flesh at the core ; 

And once — only once — for the love of its blush, 

I broke a bloom-bough, but there came such a gush 

On my hand, that it fainted away in weak fright, 

While the leaf-hidden woodpecker shrieked at the sight ; 

And, ! such an agony thrilled in that fiote. 

That my soul, startling up, beat its wings in my throat, 

As it longed to be free of a body whose hand 

Was doomed to work torments a Fury had planned ! 

There I stood without stir, yet how willing to flee, 
As if rooted and horror- turned into a tree, — 

! for innocent death, — and, to suddenly win it, 

1 drank of tlie stream, but no poison was in it ; 
I plunged in its waters, but ere I could sink 
Some invisible fate pulled me back to the brink ; 
I sprang from the rock, from its pinnacle height, 
But fell on the grass with a grasshopper's flight : 
I ran at my fears — they were fears and no more. 

For the bear would not mangle my limbs, nor the boar, 
But moaned, — all their brutalized flesh could not smother 
The horrible truth, — we were kin to each other ! 

They were mournfully gentle, and grouped for relief, 
All foes m their skin, but all friends in their grief: 



LYCUS, THE CEXTAUR. 75 

The leopard was there, — baby-mild in its feature ; 

And the tiger, black-barred, ^Yith the gaze of a creature 

That knew gentle pity ; the bristle-backed boar, 

His innocent tusks stained with mulberry gore ; 

And the laughing hyena — but laughing no more , 

And the snake, not with magical orbs to devise 

Strange death, but with woman's attraction of eyes ; 

The tall ugly ape, that still bore a dim shine 

Through his hairy eclipse of a manhood divine ; 

And the elephant stately, with more than its reason, 

How thoughtful in sadness ! but this is no season 

To reckon them up, from the lag-bellied toad 

To the mammoth, whose sobs shook his ponderous load. 

There were woes of all shapes, wretched forms, when I came, 

That hung down their heads with a human-like shame ; 

The elephant hid in the boughs, and the bear 

Shed over his eyes the dark veil of his hair ; 

And the womanly soul, turning sick with disgust^ 

Tried to vomit herself from her serpentine crust ; 

While all groaned their groans into one at their lot, 

As I brought them the image of what they Avere not. 

Then rose a wild sound of the human voice choking 
Through vile brutal orfi;ans — low tremulous croaking : 
Cries swallowed abruptly — deep animal tones 
Atiuned to strange passion, and full-uttered groans ; 
All shuddering weaker, till hushed in a pause 
Of tongues in mute motion and wide-yawning jaws ; 
And I guessed that those horrors were meant to tell o'er 
The tale of their woes, but the silence told more 
That writhed on their tongues ; and I knelt on the sod. 
And prayed with my voice to the cloud-stirring God, 
For the sad congregation of supplicants there, 
That upturned to his heaven brute faces of prayer; 



76 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 

And I ceased, and thej uttei,'ed a moaning so deep, 

That I wept for my heart-ease, — but they could not -vveep, 

And gazed with red eyeballs, all wistfully dry, 

At the comfort of tears in a stag's human eye. 

Then I motioned them round, and, to soothe their distress 

I caressed, and they bent them to meet my caress, 

Their necks to my arm, and their heads to my palm, 

And with poor grateful eyes suffered meekly and calm 

Those tokens of kindness, withheld by hard fate 

From returns that might chill the warm pity to hate ; 

So they passively bowed — save the serpent, that leapt 

To my breast like a sister, and pressingly crept* 

In embrace of my neck, and with close kisses blistered 

My lips in rash love, — then drew backward, and glistered 

Her eyes in my face, and, loud hissing affright, 

Dropt down, and swift started away from my sight ! 

This sorrow was theirs, but thrice wretched my lot, 
Turned brute in my soul, though my body was not 
When I fled from the sorrow of womanly faces, 
That shrouded their woe in the shade of lone places, 
And dashed off bright tears till their fingers were wet, 
And then wiped their lids with long tresses of jet : 
But I fled — though they stretched out their hands, ali 

entangled 
With hair, and blood-stained of the breasts they had man- 
gled,— 
Though they called ■ — and perchance but to ask had I seen 
Their loves, or to tell the vile wrongs that had been : 
But I stayed not to hear, lest the story should hold 
Some hell-form of words, some enchantment, once told, 
Might translate me in flesh to a brute ; and I dreaded 
To gaze on their charms, lest my faith should be wedded 



LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 77 

With son'.'3 pity, — and love in that pity perchance, — 
To a thing not all lovely ; for once at a glance 
Methought, where one sat, I descried a bright wonder 
That flowed like a long silver rivulet under 
The long fenny grass, with so lovely a breast, 
Could it be a snake-tail made the charm of the rest? 

So I roamed in that circle of Horrors, and Fear 
Walked with me, by hills, and in valleys, and near 
Clustered trees for their gloom — not to shelter from heat - - 
]}ut lest a brute shadow should grow at my feet ; 
And besides that full oft in the sunshiny place 
Dark shadows would gather like clouds on its face, 
In the horrible likeness of demons, (that none 
Could see, like invisible flames in the sun ;) 
But grew to one monster that seized on the light, 
Like the dragon that strangles the moon in the night ; 
Fierce sphinxes, long serpents, and asps of the South ; 
Wild birds of huge beak, and all horrors that drouth 
Engenders of slime in the land of the pest, 
Vile shapes without shape, and foul bats of the West, 
Brino;ini»; Nidit on their win^s ; and the bodies wherein 
Great Brahma imprisons the spirits of sin, 
Many-handed, that blent in one phantom of fight 
Like a Titan, and threatfully warred with the light ; 
I have heard the wild shriek that gave signal to close, 
When they rushed on that shadowy Python of foes, 
That met with sharp beaks and wide gaping of jaws, 
With flappings of wings, and fierce grasping of claws. 
And whirls of long tails : — I have seen the quick flutter 
Of fragments dissevered, — and necks stretched to utter 
Long scrcamings of pain, — the swift motion of blows, 
And WTCstling of arms — to the flight at the close, 



78 LYGUS, THK CENTAUR. 

When the dust of the earth startled upward in rings, 
And flew on the whirlwind that followed their wings. 

Thus they fled — not forgotten — but often to gro^ 
Like fears in my eyes, when I walked to and fro 
In the shadows, and felt from some beings unseen 
The warm touch of kisses, but clean or unclean 
I knew not, nor whether the love I had won 
Was of heaven or hell — till one day in the sun, 
In its very noon-blaze, I could fancy a thing 
Of beauty, but faint as the cloud -mirrors fling 
On the gaze of the shepherd that watches the sky, " 
Half-seen, and half-dreamed in the soul of his eye. 
And when in my musings I gazed on the stream. 
In motionless trances of thought, there would seem 
A face like that face, looking upward-through mine, 
With its eyes full of love, and the dim-drowned shine 
Of limbs and fair garments, like clouds in that blue 
Serene : — there I stood for long hours but to view 
Those fond earnest eyes that were ever u|)lifted 
Towards me, and winked as the water-weed drifted 
Between ; but the fish knew that presence, and phed 
Their long curvy tails, and swift darted aside. 

There I gazed for lost time, and forgot all the things 
• That once had been wonders — the fishes with wings, 
And the glimmer of magnified eyes that looked up 
From the glooms of the bottom like pearls in a cup, 
And the huge endless serpent of silvery gleam, 
Slow winding alono; like a tide in the stream. 
Some maid of the waters, some Naiad, methought 
Held me dear in the pearl of her eye — and I brought 
My wish to that fancy ; and often I dashed 
My Umbs in the water, and suddenly splashed 



LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 79 

The cool drops around me, yet clung to the brink, 
Chilled by watery fears, how that Beauty might sink 
With my life in her arms to her garden, and bind me 
With its long tangled grasses, or cruelly wind me 
In some eddy to hum out my life in her car. 
Like a spider-caught bee, — and in aid of that fear 
Came the tardy remembrance — 0, fiilsest of men ! 
Why was not that beauty remembered till then 'I 
My love, my safe love, whose glad life would have run 
Into mine — like a drop — that our fate might be one, 
That now, even now, — may-be, — clasped in a dream, 
That form which I gave to some jilt of the stream, 
And gazed with fond eyes that her tears tried to smother 
On a mock of those eyes that I gave to another ! 

Then I rose from the stream, but the eyes of my mind, 
Still full of the tempter, kept gazing behind 
On her crystalline face, while I painfully leapt 
To the bank, and shook off the cursed Avaters, and wept 
With my brow in the reeds ; and tlie reeds to my ear 
Bowed, bent by no wind, and in whispers of fear. 
Growing small with large secrets, foretold me of one 
That loved me, — but to fly from her, and shun 
Iler love like a pest — though her love was as true 
To mine as her stream to the heavenly blue ; 
For why should I love her with love that would bring 
All misfortune, like Hate, on so joyous a thing '? 
Because of her rival, — even Her whose witch-face 
I had slighted, and therefore was doomed in that place 
To roam, and had roamed, where all horrors grew rank 
Nine days ere I wept with my brow on that bank ; 
Her name be not named, but her spite would not fiiil 
To our lo\'e like a blight ; and they told me the tale 



80 LYCUSj THE CENTAUR. 

Of Scylla, and Picus, imprisoned to speak 

His shrill-screaming woe through a woodpecker s beak. 

Then they ceased — I had heard as the voice of my star 
That told me the truth of my fortunes — thus far 
I had read of my sorrow, and lay in the hush 
Of deep meditation, — when, lo ! a light crush 
Of the reeds, and I turned and looked round in the night 
Of new sunshine, and saw, as I sipped of the light 
Narrow-winking, the realized nymph of the stream, 
Rising up from the wave with the bend and the gleam 
Of a fountain, and o'er her white arms she kept throwing 
Bright torrents of hair, that went flowing and flowing 
In falls to her feet, and the blue waters rolled 
Down her limbs like a garment, in many a fold, 
Sun-spangled, gold-broidered, and fled ftir behind, 
Like an infinite train. So she came and reclined 
In the reeds, and I hungered to see her unseal 
The buds of her eyes that would ope and reveal 
The blue that was in them ; and they oped and she raised 
Two orbs of pure crystal, and timidly gazed 
With her eyes on my eyes ; but their color and shine 
Was of that which they looked on, and mostly of mine — 
For she loved me, — except when she blushed, and they sank. 
Shame-humbled, to number the stones on the bank, 
Or her play-idle fingers, while lisping she told me 
How she put on her veil, and in love to behold me 
Would wing through the sun till she fainted away 
Like a mist, and then flew to her waters and lay 
In love-patience long hours, and sore dazzled her eyes 
In watching for mine 'gainst the midsummer skies. 
But now they were healed, — my heart, it still dances 
When I think of the charm of her changeable glances, 



LYCUS, TllR OEXTAUK. 81 

And my image how small "wlicu it sank in the deep 
Of her eyes where her soul was,- — Alas ! now they weep, 
And none knoweth where. In what stream do her eyes 
Shed invisible tears ? Wlio ])ohohls where her sisrhs 

o 

Flow in eddies, or see the ascents of tlie leaf 

She has plucked with her tresses I Who listens her grief 

Like a far fall of waters, or hears where her feet 

Grow emphatic among the bose pebbles, and beat 

Them together 'I Ah ! surely her flowers float adown 

To the sea unaccepted, and little ones drown 

For need of her mercy, — even he whose twin-brotlier 

Will miss him forever : and the sorrowful mother 

Imploreth in vain fur his body to kiss 

And cling to, all dripping and cold as it is, 

Because that soft pity is lost in liaixl pain ! 

We loved, — how wo loved ! — for I thought not again 

Of the woes that were whispered like fears in that place 

If I gave me to beauty. Her face was the face 

Far away, and her eyes were the eyes that ^?ere drowned 

For my absence, — her arms Avere the arms that sought round 

And clasped me to naught ; for I gazed and became 

Only true to my falsehood, and had but one name 

For two loves, and called ever on 2E^h^ sweet maid 

Of the sky-loving waters, — and was not afraid 

Of the sight of her skin ; — for it never could be 

Her beauty and love were misfortunes to me ! 

Thus our bliss had endured for a time-shortened space, 
Like a day made of three, and thS^smile of her face 
Had been with me for joy, — when she told me indeed 
Her love was self-tasked with a work that would need 
Some short hours, for in truth 'twas the veriest pity 
Qiir love should not last, and then sang me a ditty 

6 



82 LYCUS. THE CENTAUR. 

Of one with warm lips that sh )uld love her, and love hei 

When suns were bdrnt dim and long ages past over. 

So she fled with her voice, and I patiently nested 

Mj limbs in the reeds, in still quiet, and rested 

Till mj thoughts grew extinct, and I sank in a sleep 

Of dreams, — bat their meaning was hidden too deep 

To be read what their woe Avas; — but still it was woe 

That was writ on all faces that swam to and fro 

In that river of night ;. — and the gaze of their eyes 

Was sad, — and the bend of their brows, — and their cries 

Were seen, but I heard not. The warm touch of tears 

Travelled down my cold cheeks, and I shook till my fears 

Awaked me, and, lo ! I was couched in a bower, 

The growth of long summers reared up in an hour ! 

Then I said, in the fear of my dream, I will fly 

From this magic, but could not, because that my eye 

Grew love-idle among the rich blooms ; and the earth 

Held me down with its coolness of touch, and the mirth 

Of some bird was above me, — who, even in fear, 

Would startle the thrush '? and methought there drew near 

A form as of ^gle, — but it was not the face 

Hope made, and I kncAV the witch- Queen of that place, 

Even Circe the Cruel, that came like a Death 

Which I feared, and yet fled not, for want of my breath. 

There was thought in her face, and her -eyes were not raised 

From the grass at her foot, but I saw, as I gazed, 

Her spite — and her countenance changed with her mind, 

As she planned how to thrall me with beauty, and bind 

My soul to her charms, — and her long tresses played 

From shade into shine and from shine into shade. 

Like a day in mid-autumn, — first fliir, how fair ! 

With long snaky locks of the adder-black hair 



LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 83 

That clung round her neck, — those dark locks that I prize, 

For the sake of a maid that once loved rac -with eyes 

Of that fathomless hue, — but they changed as they rolled 

And brightened, and suddenly blazed into gold 

That she combed into flames, and the locks that fell down 

Turned dark as they fell, but I slighted their brown, 

Nor loved, till I sa^y the light ringlets shed wild, 

That innocence wears when she is but a child ; 

And her eyes, — 0, 1 ne'er had been witched with their shine, 

Had they been any other, my iEgle, than thine ! 

Then I gave me to magic, and gazed till I maddened 
In the full of their light, — but I saddened and saddened 
The deeper I looked, — till I sank on the snow 
Of her bosom, a thing made of terror and woe, 
And ans^Yered its throb with a shudder of fears, 
And hid my cold eyes from her eyes with my tears, 
And strained her white arms with the still lans-uid weight 
Of a fainting distress. There she sat like the Fate 
That is nurse unto Death, and bent over in shame 
To hide me from her — the true jE'Ao — that came 
AVith the words on her lips the false witch had foregiven 
To make me immortal — for now I was even 
At the portals of Death, who but waited the hush 
Of world-sounds in my ear to cry Avelcome, and rush 
With my soul to the banks of his black-flowing river. 
0, would it had flown from my body forever, 
Ere I listened those words, when I felt, with a start. 
The life-blood rush back in one throb to my heart, 
And saw the pale lips where the rest of that spell 
Had perished in horror — and heard the farewell 
Of that voice that was drowned in the dash of the stream ! 
How fain had I followed, and plunged with that scream 



84 LYCUS. THE CENTAUR. 

Into death, but mj being indignantly lagged 

Through the brtitalizod flesh that I painfully dragged 

Behind me • — " 0, Circe ! 0, mother of spite ! 

Speak the last of that curse ! and imprison me quite 

In the husk of a brute, — that no pity may name 

The man that I was, — that no kindred may claim 

The monster I am ! Let me utterly be 

Brute-buried, and Nature's dishonor with me 

Uninscribed ! " — But she listened my prayer, that was 

praise 
To her malice, with smiles, and advised me to gaze 
On the river for love, — and perchance she would make 
In pity a maid without eyes for my sake. 
And she left me like Scorn. Then I asked of the wave 
What monster I was ; and it trembled and gave 
The true shape of my grief, and I turned with my face 
From all waters forever, and fled through that place, 
Till with horror more strong than all magic I passed 
Its bounds, and the Avorld was before me at last. 

There I wandered in sorrow, and shunned the abodes 
Of men, that stood up in the likeness of gods, 
But I saw from afar the warm shine of the sun 
On their cities, w^here man was a million, not one ; 
And I saw the white sm.oke of their altars ascending. 
That showed where the hearts of the many were blending, 
And the wind in my face brought shrill voices that came 
From the trumpets that gathered whole bands in one fame 
As a chorus of man, — and they streamed from the gates 
Like a iusky libation poured out to the Fates. 
But at times there were gentler processions of peace, 
That I watched with my soul in my eyes till their cease, 



LYCUS, THE CENTAUR. 85 

There were women ! there men ! but to me a third sex 

I saw them all dots — yet I loved them as specks : 

And oft, to assuage a sad yearning of eyes, 

I stole near the city, but stole covert-wise, 

Like a wild beast of love, and perchance to bo smitten 

By some hand that I rather had wept on than bitten ! 

0. I once had a haunt near a cot where a mother 

Daily sat in the shade with her child, and would smother 

Its eyelids in kisses, and then in its sleep 

Sang dreams in its ear of its manhood, wdiile deep 

In a thicket of AvilloAvs I gazed o'er the brooks 

That murmured between us, and kissed them with looks ; 

But the willoAVS unbosomed their secret, and never 

I retui-ned to a spot I had startled forever. 

Though I oft longed to know, but could ask it of none. 

Was the mother still fair, and how big was her son. 

For the haunters of fields they all shunned me by flighty 
The men in their horror, the Avomen in fright ; 
None ever remained save a child once that sported 
Among the wild bluebells, and painfully courted 
The breeze ; and beside him a speckled snake lay 
Tight strangled, because it had hissed him away 
From the flower at his finger : he rose and drew near 
Like a Son of Immortals, one born to no fear. 
But with strength of black locks and Avith eyes azure bright 
To 2:row to lar^-e manhood of merciful mi;2;ht. 
II3 came, with his face of bold wonder, to feel 
The htiir of my side, and to lift up my heel, 
And questioned my face with wide eyes ; but when under 
My lids he saw tears, — for I wept at his wonder, 
lie stroked me, and uttered such kindliness then. 
That the once love of women, the friendship of men 



86 LYCUS, THE CENTAUR 

In past sorrow, no kindness e'er came like a kiss 

On my heart in its desolate day such as this ; 

And I yearned at his cheeks in my love, and down bent» 

And lifted him up in my arms with intent 

To kiss him, — but he, cruel-kindly, alas ! 

Held out to my lips a plucked handful of grass ! 

Then I dropt him in horror, but felt as I fled 

The stone he indignantly hurled at my head, 

That dissevered my ear, but I felt not, whose fate 

Was to meet more distress in his love than his ha,te ! 

Thus I wandered, companioned of grief and forlorn, 
Till I wished for that land where my being was born ; 
But what was that land with its love, where my home 
Was self-shut a.gainst me ; for why should I come 
Like an after-distress to my gray-bearded father, 
With a blight to the last of his sight 7 — let him rather 
Lament for me dead, and shed tears in the urn 
Where I was not, and still in fond memory turn 
To his son even such as he left him. 0, how 
Could I walk with the youth once my fellows, but now 
Like gods to my humbled estate 1 — or how bear 
The steeds once the pride of my eyes and the care 
Of my hands ? Then I turned me self-banished, and came 
Lito Thessaly here, where I met with the same 
As myself. I have heard how they met by a stream 
In games, and Avere suddenly changed by a scream 
That made wretches of many, as she rolled her Avild eyes 
Against heaven, and so vanished. — The gentle and wise 
Lose their thoughts in deep studies, and others their ill 
[n the mirth of mankind where they mingle them still. 



THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT, 



Alas ! that breathing Vanity should go 

Where Pride is burial, — like its very ghost, 

Uprisen from the naked bones below, 
In novel flesh, clad in the silent boast 

Of gaudy silk that flutters to and fro, 
Shedding its chilling superstition most 

On young and ignorant natures — as it wont 

To haunt the peaceful church -yard of Bedfont ! 

Each Sabbath morning, at the hour of prayer, 
Behold two maidens, up the quiet green 

Shining, far distant, in the summer air 

That flaunts their dewy robes and breathes between 

Their doAvny plumes, — sailing as if they were 
Two f ir-oft* ships, — until they brush betAveen 

The church-yards humble walls, and vrateh and wait 

On either side of the wide-opened gate. 

And there they stand — with haughty necks before 
Go<Vs holy house, that points towards the skies — 

FroAvning reluctant duty from the poor, 

And tempting homage from unthoughtful eyes : 

And Youth looks lingering from the temple door, 
Breathinu: its wishes in unfi-uitful siii;hs. 

With pouting lips, — forgetful of the grace, 

Of health, and smiles, on the heart-conscious face ; — 



88 THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 

Because that Wealth, which has no bliss beside, 
May wear the happiness of rich attire ; 

And those two sisters, in their silly pride, 

May change the soul's warm glances for the fire 

Of lifeless diamonds ; — and for health denied, — 
With art, that blushes at itself, inspire 

Their languid cheeks — and flourish in a glory 

That has no life in life, nor after-story. 

The aged priest goes shaking his gray hair 
In meekest censuring, and turns his eye 

Earthward in grief, and heavenward in prayer. 
And sighs, and clasps his hands, and passes by. 

Good-hearted man ! what sullen soul would wear 
Thy sorrow for a garb, and constantly 

Put on thy censure, that might win the praise 

Of one so gray in goodness and in days? 

Also the solemn clerk partakes the shame 
Of this ungodly shine of human pride, 

And sadly blends his reverence and blame 
In one grave Idow, and passes with a stride 

Impatient : — many a red-hooded dame 

Turns her pained head, but not her glance, aside 

From wanton dress, and marvels o'er again, 

That Heaven hath no wet judgments for the vain. 

'"I have a lily in the bloom at home," 

Quoth one, " and by the blessed Sabbath day 

I '11 pluck my lily in its pride, and come 
And read a lesson upon vain array ; — 

And Avhen stiff silks are rustling up, and some 
Give place, I '11 shake it in proud eyes and say — 

Making my reverence, — ' Ladies, an you please, 

King Solomon 's not half so fine as these.' " 



THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 89 

Then her meek partner, who has nearly run 

Hi.s earthly course, — '^ Naj, Goody, let your text 

Grow in the garden. — "We have only one — 

Who knows that these dim eyes may see the next 7 

Summer will come again, and summer sun, 
And lilies- too, — but I were sorely vext 

To mar my garden, and cut short the blow 

Of the last lily 1 may live to grow.'* 

*' The last ! " quoth she, " and though the last it were- 
Lo ! those two wantons, where they stand so proud, 

With waving plumes, and jewels in their hair, 
And painted cheeks, like Dagons to be bowed 

And curtseyed too ! — last Sabbath, after prayer, 
I heard the little Tomkins ask aloud 

If they were angels • — but I made him know 

God's bright ones better, with a bitter blow ! " 

So speaking they pursue the pebbly walk 

That leads to the white porch the Sunday throng, — 

Hand-coupled urchins in restrained talk, 

And anxious pedagogue that chastens wrong, 

And posied church-warden with solemn stalk, 
And gold-bedizencd beadle flames along. 

And gentle peasant clad in buff and green. 

Like a meek cowslip in the spring serene ; 

And blushing maiden, — modestly arrayed 

In spotless white, — still conscious of the glass : 

And she, the lonely widow, that hath made 
A sable covenant with grief, — alas ! 

She veils her tears under the deep, deep shade^ 
While the poor kindly-hearted, as they pass, 

Bend to unclouded childhood, and caress 

Her boy, — so rosy ! — and so fatherless ! 



90 THE TAVO PEACOCKS OF EEDFONT. 

Thus, as good Christians ought, thej all draw near 
The fair white temple, to the timely call 

Of pleasant bells that tremble in the ear. — 

Now the last frock, and scarlet hood, and shawl, 

Fade into dusk, in the dim atmosphere 

Of the low porch, and heaven has won them all. 

Saving those two, that turn aside and pass. 

In velvet blossom, where all flesh is grass. 

Ah me ! to see their silken manors trailed 
In purple luxuries — with restless gold, — 

riaunting the grass where w^idowhood has wailed 
In blotted black, — over the heapj mould 

Panting wave- wantonly ! They never quailed 
How the w^arm vanity abused the cold ; 

Nor saw the solemn faces of the gone 

Sadly uplooking through transparent stone : 

But sw^ept their dwellings with unquiet light, 
Shocking the a^wful presence of the dead ; 

Where gracious natures would their eyes benight, 
Nor wear their being with a lip too red, 

Nor move too rudely in the summer bright 
Of sun, but put staid sorrow in their tread. 

Meting it into steps, ^vith inward breath, 

In very pity to bereaved death. 

Now in the church, time-sobered minds resign 
To solemn prayer, and the loud chanted hymn, - 

With glowing picturings of joys divine 

Paintino- the mist-listht where the roof is dim : 

But youth looks upward to the window shine. 
Warming with rose and purple and the swim 

Of gold, as if thought-tinted by the stains 

Of gorgeous light through many-colored panes; 



THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 93 

Soiling the virgin snow wherein God hath 
Enrobed liis angels, — and with absent ejes 

Hearing of heaven, and its directed path. 

Thoughtful of slippers, — and the glorious skies 

Clouding with satin, — till the preacher's wrath 
Consumes his pity, and he glows, and cries 

With a deep voice that trembles in its might, 

And earnest ejes grown eloquent in light : 

*' 0, that the vacant eye would learn to look 

On very beauty, and the heart embrace 
True loveliness, and from this holy book 

Drink the warm-breathing tenderness and grace 
Of love indeed ! 0, that the young soul took 

Its virgin passion from the glorious face 
Of fiiir religion, and addressed its strife 
To win the riches of eternal life ! 

" Doth the vain heart love glory that is none. 

And the poor excellence of vain attire ? 
go, and drown your eyes against tlie sun, 

The visible ruler of the starry quire, 
Till boiling gold in giddy eddies run, 

Dazzlins: the brain with orbs of livmo; fire ; 
And the faint soul down darkens into night, 
And dies a burninir martvrdom to liu-ht. 



o 



*' go, and gaze, — when the low winds of even 
Breathe nymns, and Nature's many forests nod 

Tlieir gold-crowned heads ; and the rich blooms of heaven 
Sun-ripened give their blushes up to God ; 

A.nd mountain-rocks and cloudy steeps are riven 
By founts of fire, as smitten by the rod 

Of lieavenly Moses, — that your thirsty sense 

May quench its longings of magnificence ! 



t92 TUE TWO PEACOCKS OF LEDFONT. 

^' Yet suns shall perish — stars shall facie away — 
Day into darkness — darkness into death — 

Death into silence ; the warm light of day, 

The blooms of summer, the rich glowhig breath 

Of even — all shall wither and decay, 

Like the frail furniture of dreams beneath 

The touch of morn — or bubbles of rich dves 

That break and vanish in the aching eyes." 

They hear, soul-blushing, and repentant shed 

Unwholesome thoughts in wholesome tears, and pour 

Their sin to earth, — and with low drooping head 
Receive the solemn blessing, and implore 

Its grace — then soberly, with chastened tread. 
They meekly press towards the gusty door^ 

With humbled eyes that go to graze upon 

The lowly grass — like him of Babylon. 

The lowly grass ! — 0, water-constant mind I 
Fast-ebbing holiness ! — soon-fading grace 

Of serious thought, as if the gushing wind 

Through the low porch had washed it from the face 

Forever ! — How they lift their eyes to find 
Old vanities ! — Pride wins the very place 

Of meekness, like a bird, and flutters now 

With idle wings on the curl-conscious brow I 

And, lo ! with eager looks they seek the way 

Of old temptation at the lowly gate ; 
To feast on feathers, and on vain array. 

And painted cheeks, and the rich glistering state 
Of jewel-sprinkled locks. — But where are they, 

The graceless haughty ones that used to wait 
With lofty neck, and nods, and stiffened eye 7 — 
None challeni^^c the old homa^m bending by. 



THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT. 9^3 

In vain they look for the ungracious bloom 
Of rich iippai'el -where it glowed before, — 

For vanity has faded all to gloom, 

And lofty Pride has stiftcned to the core, 

For impious Life to tremble at its doom. — 
Set for a ■warning token evermore. 

Whereon, as now. the iriddv and the wise 

Shall gaze with lifted hands and wondering eyes. 

The aged priest goes on each Sabbath morn, 
But shakes not sorrow under his gray hair ; 

The solemn clerk goes lavendered and shorn, 
Nor stoops his back to the ungodly pair ; — 

And ancient lips, that puckered up in scorn. 
Go smoothly breathing to the house of prayer ; 

And in the garden-plot, from day to day, 

The lily blooms its long white life away. 

And where two haughty maidens used to be. 

In pride of plume, where plumy Death had trod, 

Trailing their gorgeous velvets wantonly. 
Most unmeet pall, over the holy sod ; — 

There, gentle stranger,- thou may'st only see 

Two sombre Peacocks. Age, with sapient nod 

Marking the spot, still tarries to declare 

How they once lived, and wherefore they are there. 



THE TWO SWANS. 



A FAIRY TALE. 



Immortal Imogen, crowned queen above 

The lilies of thy sex, vouchsafe to hear 

A fairy dream in honor of true love — 

True above ills, and frailty, and all fear — 

Perchance a shadow of his own career 

Whose youth was darkly prisoned and long twined 

By serpent-sorrow, till white Love drew near, 

And sweetly sang him free, and round his mind 

A bright horizon threw, wherein no grief may wind. 

•t 

I saw a tower builded on a lake, 

Mocked by its inverse shadow, dark and deep — 

That seemed a still intenser night to make, 

Wherein the quiet waters sunk to sleep, — 

And, whatsoe'er was prisoned in that keep, 

A monstrous Snake was warden : — round and round 

In sable ringlets I beheld him creep 

Blackest amid black shadows to the ground, 

Whilst his enormous head the topmost turret crowned. 

From whence he shot fierce light against the stars, 
Making the pale moon paler with affright ; 
And with his ruby eye out-threatened Mars — 
That blazed in the mid-heavens, hot and bright — 



THE TWO SWANS. 95 

Nor slept nor winked, but with a steadfast spite 
Watched their wan looks and tremblings in the skies; 
And, that he might not slumber in the night, 
The curtain-lids were plucked from his large eyes, 
So he might never drowse, but watch his secret prize. 

Prince or princess in dismal durance pent. 
Victims of old Enchantment's love or hate, 
Their lives must all in painful sighs be spent, 
Watching the lonely waters soon and late. 
And clouds that pass and leave them to their fate, 
Or company their grief with heavy tears : — 
Meanwhile that Hope can spy no golden gate 
For sweet escapement, but in darksome fears 
They weep and pine away as if immortiil years. 

No gentle bird with gold upon its wing 
Will perch upon the grate — the gentle bird 
Is safe in leafy dell, and will not bring 
Freedom's sv/eet key-note and commission word 
Learned of a fairy's lips, for pity stirred — 
Lest while he trembling sings, untimely guest ! 
Watched by that cruel Snake and darkly heard, 
He leave a widow on her lonely nest, 
To press in silent grief the darlings of her breast. 

No gallant knight, adventurous, in his bark, 
Will seek the fruitful perils of the place, 
To rouse with dipping oar the waters dark 
That bear the serpent-image on their face. 
And Love, brave Love ! though he attcm.pt the base. 
Nerved to his loyal death, he may not win 
His captive lady from the strict embrace 
Of that foul Serpent, clasping her within 
His sa])le folds — like Eve enthralled by the old Sin. 



^g THE TWO SWANS. 

But tliere is none — no knight in panoply, 
Nor Love, intrenched in his strong steely coat : 
No little speck — no sail — no helper nigh, 
No sign — no whispering — no plash of boat : — 
The distant shores show dimlj and remote, 
Made of a deeper mist, — serene and gray, — 
And slow and mute the cloudy shadows float 
Over the gloomy wave, and pass away, 
Chased by the silver beams that on their marges play. 

And bright and silvery the willows sleep 
Over the shady verge — no mad winds tease 
Their hoary heads ; but quietly they weep 
There sprinkling leaves — half fountains and half trees 
There lilies be — and fairer than all these, 
A solitary Swan her breast of snoAV 
Launches against the wave that seems to freeze 
Into a chaste reflection, still below 
Twin-shadow of herself wherever she may go. 

And forth she paddles in the very noon 
Of solemn midnight like an elfin tiling, 
Charmed into being by the argent moon — 
Whose silver light for love of her fair wino^ 
Goes with her in the shade, still worshipping 
Her dainty plumage : — all around her grew 
A radiant circlet, like a fairy rino- • 
And all behind, a tiny little clue 
Of light, to guide her back across the waters blue. 

And sure she is no meaner than a fay, 
Kedeemed from sleepy death, for beauty's sake, 
By old ordainment : — silent as she lay, 
Touched by a moonlight wand I saw her wake, 



TUE TWO SAVAxVS. 97 

And cut her leafy slougli, and so forsake 
The verdant prison of her lily peers, 
That slept amidst the stars upon the lake — 
A breathing shape — restored to human fears, 
And new-born love and grief — self-conscious of her tears 

And now she clasps her wings around her heart. 
And near that lonely isle begins to glide 
Pale as her fears, and ofttimcs with a start 
Turns her impatient head from side to side 
In universal terrors — all too wide 
To watch ; and often to that marble keep 
Upturns her pearly eyes, as if she spied 
Some foe, and crouches in the shadows steep 
That in the gloomy wave go diving fathoms deep. 

And well she may, to spy that fearful thing 
All down the dusky walls in circlets wound ! ^ 
Alas ! for what rare prize, with many a ring 
Girding the marble casket round and round 1 
His folded tail, lost in the gloom profound. 
Terribly darkeneth the rocky base ; 
But on the top his monstrous head is crowned 
With prickly spears, and on his doubtfal face 
Gleam his unwearied eyes, red watchers of the place. 

Alas ! of the hot fires that nightly fall, 
No one will scorch him in those orbs of spite, 
So he may never see beneath the wall 
That timid little creature, all too bright, 
That stretclies her fair neck, slender and white, 
Invoking tlie pale moon, and vainly tries 
Ilcr throbbing throat, as if to charm the night 
With song — but, hush — it perishes in sighs, 
And there will be no dirge, sad swelling though she dies ! 

7 



&8 THE TWO SWANS. 

She droops — she sinks — she leuns upon the lako, 
-' Fainting again into a lifeless flower ; 

Bat soon the chilly springs anoint and wake 
Her spirit from its death, and with new pawer 
She sheds her stifled sorrows in a shower 
Of tender song, timed to her falling tears — 
That wins tlie shady summit of that tower, 
And, trembling all the sweeter Cor its fears, 
Fills with imploring moan that cruel monster's eai*s. 

And, lo ; the scaly beast is all deprest, 
Subdued like Argus by the might of sound — 
What time Apollo his sweet lute addrest 
To magic converse with the air, and bound 
The many monster eyes, all slumber-drowned : — 
So on the turret-top that watchful snake 
Pillows his giant head, and lists profound, 
As if his wrathful spite would never wake, 
Charmed into sudden sleep for Love and Beauty's sake ! 

His prickly crest lies prone upon his crown, 
And thirsty lip from lip disparted flies. 
To drink that dainty flood of music down — 
His scaly throat is big with pent-up sighs — 
And whilst his hollow ear entranced lies, 
His looks for envy of the charmed sense 
Are fain to listen, till his steadfast eyes. 
Stung into pain by their own impotence, 
Distil enormous tears into the lake immense. 

0, tuneful Swan ! 0, melancholy bird ! 

Sweet was that midnight miracle of song, 

Rich with ripe sorrow, needful of no word 

To te"*! of pain, and love, and love's deep wrong — 



TUE TWO SWANS. 99 

Hinting a piteous tale — perchance how long 
Thy unknown tears were mingled with the lake, 
What time disguised thj leafy mates among — 
And no eye knew what human love and ache 
Dwelt in those dewy leaves, and heart so nigh to break. 

Therefore no poet will ungently touch 
The water-lily, on whose eyelids dew 
Trembles like tears ; but ever hold it such 
As human pain may wander through and through, 
Turning the pale leaf paler in its hue — 
Wherein life dwells, transfigured, not entombed, 
By magic spells. Alas ! who ever knew 
Sorrow in all its shapes, leafy and plumed. 
Or in gross husks of brutes eternally inhumed 7 

And now the winched sono^ has scaled the height 
Of that dark dwelling, builded for despair. 
And soon a little casement fiashin": brio-lit 
Widens self-opened into the cool air — 
That music like a bird may enter there 
And soothe the captive in his stony cage ; 
For there is naught of grief, or painful care. 
But plaintive song may happily engage 
From sense of its own ill, and tenderly assuage. 

And forth into the light, small and remote, 
A creature, like the fiiir son of a king, 
DraAvs to the lattice in his jewelled coat 
Against the silver moonlight glistening, 
And leans upon his white hand listening 
To that sweet music that with tenderer tone 
Salutes hmi, wondering what kindly thing 
Is come to soothe him with so tuneful moan, 
Singing beneath the walls as if for him alone I 



100 THE TWO SWAXS. 

And wliile he listens, the mysterious song, 
Woven with timid particles of speech, 
Twines into passionate words that grieve along 
The melancholy notes, and softly teach 
The secrets of true love, — that trembling reach 
His earnest ear, and through the shadows dun 
He missions like replies, and each to each 
Their silver voices mingle into one. 
Like blended streams that make one music as they run. 

'' Ah ! Love, my hope is swooning in my heart, — 
Ay, sweet, my cage is strong and hung full high — 
Alas ! our lips are held so far apart. 
Thy words come faint, they have so far to fly ! — 
If I may only shun that serpent eye, — 
Ah me ! that serpent eye doth never sleep ; — 
Then, nearer thee. Love's martyr, I will die ! — 
Alas, alas ! that word has made me weep ! 
For Pity's sake remain safe in thy marble keep ! 

" My marble keep ! it is my marble tomb — 
Nay, sweet ! but thou hast there thy living breath — 
Aye to expend in sighs for this hard doom ; — • 
But I will come to thee and sinsr beneath, 
And nightly so beguile this serpent wreath ; — 
Nay, I will find a path from these despairs. 
Ah, needs then thou must tread the back of death, 
Making his stony ribs thy stony stairs. — 
Behold his ruby eye, how fearfully it glares ! " 

Full sudden at these words the princely youth 
Leaps on the scaly back that slumbers, still 
Unconscious of his foot, yet not for ruth. 
But numbed to dulness by the fairy skill 



THE TWO SWANS. 101 

Of that sweet music, (all more wild and shrill 
For intense fear,) that charmed him as he lay — 
Meanwhile the lover nerves his desperate Avill, 
Held some short throbs by natural dismay, 
Then down, down the serpent-track begins his darksome Avay 

Now dimly seen — now toiling out of sight. 
Eclipsed and covered by the envious wall : 
Now fair and spangled in the sudden light, 
And clinging with wide arms for fear of fall ; 
Now dark and sheltered by a kindly pall 
Of dusky shadow from his Avakeful foe ; 
Slowly he winds adown — dimly and small, 
AVatched by the gentle swan that sings below. 
Her hope increasmg, still, the larger he doth grow. 

But nine times nine the serpent folds embrace 
The marble walls about — Avhich he must tread 
Before his anxious foot may touch the base : 
Long is the dreary path, and must be Sj)ed ! 
But Love, that holds the mastery of dread. 
Braces his spirit, and witli constant toil 
He wins his way. and now, with arms outspread, 
Lnpaticnt plunges from the last long coil : 
So may all gentle Love ungentle Malice foil. 

The song is hushed, the charm is all complete, 
And two fair Swans are swimming on the hike : 
But scarce their tender bills have time to meet, 
When fiercely drops adown that cruel Snake — 
His steely scales a fearful rustling make, 
Like autumn leaves that tremble and foretell 
The sable storm ; — the plumy lovers quake — 
And feel the troubled waters pant and swell, 
Heaved by the giant bulk of their pursuer fell. 



102 THE TWO SWANS. 

His jaws, wide yawning like the gates of Death, 
Hiss horrible pursuit — his red eyes glare 
The waters into blood — his eager breath 
Grows hot upon their plumes : — now, minstrel fair ! 
She drops her ring into the waves, and there 
It widens all around, a fairy ring 
Wrought of the silver light — the fearful pair 
Swim in the very midst, and pant and cling 
The closer for their fears, and tremble wing to wing. 

Eending their course over the pale gray lake, 
Against the pallid East, wherein light played 
In tender flushes, still the baffled Snake 
Circled them round continually, and bayed 
Hoarsely and loud, forbidden to invade 
The sanctuary ring — his sable mail 
Rolled darkly through the flood, and writhed and made 
A shining track over the waters pale, 
Lashed into boiling foam by his enormous tail. 

And so they sailed into the distance dim. 
Into the very distance — small and white, 
Like snowy blossoms of the spring that swim 
Over the brooklets — followed by the spite 
Of that huge Serpent, that with wild affright 
Worried them on their course, and sore annoy, 
Till on the grassy marge I saw them 'light, 
And change, anon, a gentle girl and boy, 
Locked in embrace of sweet unutterable joy ! ' 

Then came the Morn, and with her pearly showers 
Wept on them, like a mother, in whose eyes 
Tears are no grief; and from his rosy bowers 
The Oriental sun began to rise, 



THE TWO SAVANS. 103 

Chasing the darksome shadows from the skies ; 
Wherewith that sable Serpent far away 
Pled, like a part of night — delicious sighs 
From waking bosoms purified the day. 
And little birds were sii.gmg sweetly from each spray. 



THE DREAM OP EUGENE ARAM 



'T WAS in the prime of summer time, 

An evening calm and cool, 
And four-and- twenty happy boys 

Came bounding out of school : 
There were some that ran, -and some that leapt, 

Like troutlets in a pool. 

Away they sped with gamesome minds, 

And souls untouched by sin ; 
To a level mead they came, and tliere 

They drave the wickets in : 
Pleasantly shone the setting sun 

Over the town of Lynn. 

Like sportive deer they coursed about, 

And shouted as they ran, — 
Turnino; to mirth all things of earth, 

CD O 7 

As only boyhood can ; 
But the Usher sat remote from all, 
A melancholy man I 



His hat was oiF, his vest apart, 

To catch heaven's blessed breeze ; 

For a burning thought was in his brow. 
And his bosom ill at ease : 

So he leaned his head on his hands, and read 
The book between his knees ! 



THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 105 

Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er, 

Nor ever glanced^ aside, 
For the peace of his soul he read that bools 

In the golden eventide : 
Much study had made him very lean, 

And pale, and leaden-ejed. 

At last he shut the ponderous tome, 

With a fast and fervent grasp 
He strained the dusky covers close, 

And fixed the brazen hasp : 
'' 0, God ! could I so close my mind. 

And clasp it with a clasp ! '' ^ 

Then leaping on his feet upright, 

Some moody turns he took, — 
Now up the mead, then down the mead, 

And past a shady nook, — 
And, lo ! he saw a little boy 

That pored upon a book ! 

" My gentle lad, what is 't you read — 

Romance or fairy fable 1 
Or is it some historic page. 

Of kingjs and crowns unstable? " 
The young boy gave an upward glance,— 

"It is 'The Death of Abel.'" 

The Usher took six hasty strides, 

As smit with sudden pain, — 
Six hasty strides beyond the place, 

Then slowly back agaiii ; 
And down he sat beside the lad, 

And talked with him of Cain ; 



106 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 

And, long since then, of bloody men, 
Whose deeds tradition saves ; 

Of lonely folk cut off unseen, 
And hid in sudden graves ; 

Of horrid stabs in groves forlorn, 
And murders done in caves ; 

And liow the sprites of injured men 
Shriek upward from the sod, — 

Ay, how the ghostly hand will point 
To show the burial clod ; 

And unknown facts of guilty acts 
Are seen in dreams from God ' 

He told how murderers walk the earth 
Beneath the curse of Cain, — 

With crimson clouds before their eyes, 
And flames about their brain • 

For blood has left upon their souls 
Its everlasting stain ! 

'^ And well," quoth he, " I know, for truth, 
Their pangs must be extreme, — 

Woe, woe, unutterable woe, — 

Who spill life's sacred stream ! 

For why ? Methought, last night, I wrought 
A murder, in a dream ! 



" One that had never done me wrong — 

A feeble man and old ; 
I led him to a lonely field, — 

The moon shone clear and cold : 
Now here, said I, this man shall die, 

And I m\] have his gold ! 



THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 107 

" Two sudden blows with a ragged stick, 

And one with a heavy stone, 
One hurried gash with a hasty knife, — 

And then the deed was done : 
There was nothing lying at my foot 

But lifeless flesh ^and bone ! 

" Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, 

That could not do me ill ; 
And yet I feared him all the more, 

For lying there so still : 
There was a manhood in his look, 

That murder could not kill ! 

" And, lo ! the universal air 

Seemed lit with ghastly flame ; — 

Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes 
Were looking down in blame : 

I took the dead man by his hand. 
And called upon his name ! 

" 0, God ! it made me quake to see 

Such sense within the slain ! 
But when I touched the lifeless clay, 

The blood gushed out amain ! 
For every clot, a burning spot 

Was scorching in my brain ! 

*'My head was like an ardent coal, 

My heart as solid ice ; 
My wretched, wretched soul, I kneW; 

Was at tlie devil's price : 
A dozen times I groaned ; the dead 

Had never groaned but twice I 



108 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 

^' And now, from forth the frowning sky, 
From the heaven's toiDmost height, 

I heard a voice — the a\vful voice 

Of the blood-avenging sprite : — 

' Thou guiltj man ! take up thy dead 
And hide it from my sight ! ' 

"I took the dreary body up, 

And cast it in a stream, — ■ 
A sluggish water, black as ink, 

The depth was so extreme :— - 
My gentle Boy, remember this 

Is nothing but a dream ! 

" Down went the corse with a hollow plunge; 

And vanished in the pool ; 
Anon I cleansed my bloody hands, 

And washed my forehead cool, 
And sat among the urchins young, 

That evening, in the school. 

" 0, Heaven ! to think of their white souls, 
And mine so black and grim ! 

I could not share in childish prayer, 
Nor join in evening hymn : 

Like a devil of the pit I seemed, 
'Mid holy cherubim ! 

^' And peace w^ent with them. One and all, 
And each calm pillow spread ; 

But Guilt was my grim chamberlain 
That lighted me to bed ; 

And drew my midnight curtains round, 
With fingers bloody red i 



THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 109 

" A.11 niglit I lay in agony, 

In angiiisli dark and deep ; 
My fevered eyes I dared not close, 

But stared aghast at Sleep : 
For Sin had rendered unto her 

The keys of hell to keep ! 

" All night I lay in agony, 

From weary chime to chime, 
With one besetting horrid hint, 

That racked me all the time ; 
A mighty yearning, like the first 

Fierce impulse unto crime ! 

" One stern tyrannic thought, that made 

All other thoughts its slave ; 
Stronger and stronger every pulse 

Did that temptation crave. — 
Still urging me to go and sec 

The Dead Man in liis grave ' 

" Heavily I rose up, as soon 

As light was in the sky, 
And sought tlic black accursed pool 

With a Avild misgiving eye ; 
And I saw tlie Dead in tlie river bed, 

For the faithless stream was dry. 

" Merrily rose the lark, and shook 

The dew-drop from its wing ; 
But I never marked its morning flight, 

I never heard it sing : 
For I was stooping once again 

Under the horrid thing. 



110 THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. 

*'Witli breathless speed, like a soul in chase. 

I took him up aiul ran ; — 
There was no time to dig a grave 

Before the day began : 
In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, 

I hid the murdered man ! 

" And all that day I read in school, 
But my thought was other where ; 

As soon as the mid-day task was done, 
In secret I was there : 

And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, 
And still the corse was bare ! 

" Then down I cast me on my face, 

And first began to weep, 
For I knew my secret then was one 

That earth refused to keep : 
Or land or sea, though he should be 

Ten thousand fathoms deep. 

*' So wills the fierce avenging Sprite, 
Q^ill blood for blood atones ! 

Ay, though he 's buried in a cave, 
And trodden down with stones, 

And years have rotted off his flesh, — 
The world shall see his bones ! 

'• 0, God ! that horrid, horrid dream 

Besets me now awake ! 
Again — again, with dizzy brain, 

The human life I take ; 
And my red right hand grows raging hot, 

Like Cranmer's at the stake. 



THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM. HI 

" And Still no peace for the restless clay 

Will wave or mould allow ; 
The horrid thing pursues my soul, — 

It stands before me now ! " 
The fearful Boy looked up, and saw 

Huge drops upon his brow. 

That very night, while gentle sleep 

The urchin eyelids kissed, 
Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn 

Through the cold and heavy mist : 
And Eugene Aram walked between 

With gyves upon his wrist. 



THE ELM TREE 



A DREAM IN THE WOODS. 



And this our life, exempt from public haunt. 
Finds tongues in trees." As You Like It 



'T WAS in a shady avenue, 
Where lofty elms abound — 
And from a tree 
There came to me 
A sad and solemn sound, 
That sometimes murmured overhead, 
And sometimes undero-round. 



o 



Amongst the leaves it seemed to sigh, 
Amid the boughs to moan ; 

It muttered in the stem, and then 
The roots took up the tone ; 

As if beneath the dewy grass 
The dead began to groan. 

No breeze there was to stir the leaves ; 

No bolts that tempests launch. 
To rend the trunk or rugged bark ; 

No gale to bend the branch ; 
No quake of earth to heave the roots, 

That stood so stiff and ptanch. 



THE ELM TREE. 113 

No bird was preening up aloft, 

To rustle with its wing ; 
No squirrel, in its sport or fear, 
From bough to bough to spring 
The solid bole 
Hud ne'er a hole 
To hide a 11 vino; thini]: ! 

No scooping hollow cell to lodge 
A furtive beast or fowl, 
The martin, bat. 
Or forest cat 
That nightly loves to prowl, 
Nor ivy nook so apt to shroud 
The moping, snoring owl. 

But still the sound was in my ear, 

A sad and solemn sound. 
That sometimes murmured overhead, 

And sometimes underground — 
'T was in a shady avenue 

^Vhere lofty elms abound. 

0, hath the Dryad still a tongue 

In this ungenial clime 7 
Have sylvan spirits still a voice 

As in tlie classic prime — 
To make the forest voluble, 

As in tlic olden time ? 

The olden time is dead and gone ; 

Its years have filled their sum — 
And even in Greece — her native Greece — 

The sylvan nymph is dumb — 
From ash, and beech, and aged oak, 

No classic whispers come. 
8 



Ill THE ELM TREE. 

From poplar, pine, and drooping bircli. 
And fragrant linden trees ; 
No living sound 
E'er hovers round, 
Unless the vagrant breeze, 
The music of the merry bird, 
Or hum of busy bees. 

But busy bees forsake the elm 
That bears no bloom aloft — 

The finch was in the hawthorn- bush, 
The blackbird in the croft ; 

And among the firs the brooding dove 
That else might murmur soft. 

Yet still I heard that solemn sound, 

And sad it was to boot^ 
From every overhanging bough. 

And each minuter shoot ; 
From rugged trunk and messy rind, 

And from the twisted root. 

from these, — a melancholy moan; 

From those, — a dreary sigh ; 
As if the boughs were wintry bare, 

And wild winds sweeping by — 
Whereas the smallest fleecy cloud 

Was steadfast in the sky. 

No sign or touch of stirring air 
Could either sense observe — 

The zephyr had not breath enough 
The thistle-down to swerve. 

Or force the filmy gossamers 
To take another curve. 



THE ELM THEE. 115 

In still and silent slumber hushed 

All Nature seemed to be : 
From heaven above, or earth beneath, 

N whisper came to me — 
Except the solemn sound and sad 

From that Mystekiol'S Tree ! 

A hollow, hollow, hollow sound, 

As is that dreamy roar 
When distant billows boil and bound 

Along a shinglj shore — 
But the ocean brim was far aloof, 

A hundred miles or more. 

No murmur of the gusty sea, 

No tumult of the beach, 
However they may foam and fret. 

The bounded sense could reach — 
Methought the trees in mystic to?igue 

Were talking each to each ! — 

Mayhap, rehearsing ancient tales 
Of greenwood love or guilt, 
Of whispered vows 
Beneath their boughs ; 
Or blood obscurely spilt ; 
Or of that near-hand mansion-house 
A royal Tudor built. 

Perchance, of booty won or shared 

Beneath the starry cope — 
Or where the suicidal wretch 

Hung up the fatal rope ; 
Or Beauty kept an evil tryste, 

Ensnared by Love and Hope 



116 THE ELM TREE. 

Of graves, perchance, untimely scoopeci 

At midnight dark and dank — 
And what is underneath tlie sod 
Whereon the grass is rank — 
Of old intrigues, 
And privj leagues, 
Tradition leaves in blank. 

Of traitor lips that muttered plots — 
Of kin who fought and fell — 

God knows the undiscovered schemes, 
The arts and acts of hell, 

Performed long generations since, 
If trees had tongues to tell ! 

With wary eyes, and ears alert, 

As one who walks afraid, 
I wandered down the dappled path 

Of mingled light and shade — 
How sweetly gleamed that arch of blue 

Beyond the green arcade ! 

How^ cheerly shone the glimpse of heaveii 

Beyond that verdant aisle ! 
All overarched with lofty elms. 

That quenched the light, the while, 
As dim and chill 
As serves to fill 
Some old cathedral pile I 

And many a gnarled trunk was there, 
That a^res lono; had stood, 

Till Time had wrought them into shapes 
Like Pan's fmtastic brood; 

Or still more foul and hideous forms 
That pagans carve in wood ! 



THE ELM TREE. ^ »7 

A croucliing Satyr lurking here — 

And there ;i Goblin grim — 
As staring full of demon life 

As Gothic sculptor's whim — 
A marvel it had scarcely been 

To hear a voice from him ! 

Some ^vhisper from that horrid mouth 

Of strange, unearthly tone ; 
Or wild infernal laugh, to chill 

One"s marrow in the bone. 
But no it grins like rigid Death, 

And silent as a stone ! 

As silent as its fellows be, 

For all is mute Avith them — 
The branch that climbs the leafy roof — 
The rough and mossy stem — 
The crooked root, 
And tender shoot, 
Where hangs the dewy gem. 

One mystic tree alone there is, 

Of sad and solemn sound — 
That sometimes murmurs overhead, 

And sometimes underground — 
In all that shady avenue. 

Where lofty elms abound. 



PART 11. 

The scene is changed ! No green arcade, 
No trees all ranged a- row — 



118 THE ELM TREE. 

But scattered like a beaten Lost, 

Dispersing to and fro ; 
With here and the 'e a svhan corse, 

That fell before the foe. 

The foe that down in yonder dell 

Pursues his daily toil ; 
As witness many a prostrate trunk, 

Bereft of leafy spoil, 
Hard by its wooden stump, whereon 

The adder loves to coil. 

Alone he works — his ringing blows 
Have banished bird and beast ; 

The hind and fawn have cantered off 
A hundred yards at least ; 

And on the maple's lofty top 
The linnet's sons; has ceased. 

No eye his labor overlooks, 
Or when he takes his rest ; 

Except the timid thrush that peeps 
Above her secret nest, 

Forbid by love to leave the young 
Beneath her speckled breast. 

The woodman's heart is in his work, 

His axe is sharp and good : 

With sturdy arm and steady aim 

He smites the gaping wood ; 

' From distant rocks 

His lusty knocks 

Reecho many a rood. 



THE ELM TREE. 11 

His axe is keen, his arm is strono: ; 

The muscles serve him well ; 
rlis years have reached an extra span, 

Tlie number none can tell ; 
But still his life-long task has l)een 

The timber tree to fell. 

Through summer's parching sultriness, 
And "winter's freezing cold. 
From sapling youth 
To virile growth, 
And acre's rioid mould, 
His enero;etic axe hath runfr 
Within that forest old. 

Aloft, upon his poising steel 

The vivid sunbeams glance — 
About his head and round his feli^. 

The forest shadows dance ; 
And bounding from his russet coat 

The acorn drops askance. 

His face is like a Druid's face. 

With wrinkles furrowed deep, 
And tanned by scorching suns as brown 

As corn that 's ripe to reap ; 
But the hair on brow, and cheek, and chin, 

Is white as avooI of sheep. 

His frame is like a giant's frame ; 

His leo's are lonsi; and stark ; 
His arms like limbs of knotted yew ; 
His irands like ru<i!;<Ted bark ; 
So he felleth still 
With ri<2;ht ccood will, 
A.S if to build an ark ! 



120 THE ELM TREE. 

.' well within his fatal path 

The fearful tree might quake- 
Through every fibre, twig, and leaf, 
With aspen tremor shake ; 

Through trunk and root, 
And branch and shoot, 
A low complaining make ! 

! well to him the tree might breathe 

A sad and solemn sound, 
A sigh that murmured overhead, 

And groans from underground ; 
As in that shady avenue 

Where lofty elms abound ! 

But calm and mute the maple stands, 
The plane, the ash, the fir, 

The elm, the beech, the drooping birch, 
Without the least demur ; 

And e'en the aspen's hoary leaf 
Makes no unusual stir. 

The pines — those old gigantic pines. 
That wTithe — recalling soon 

The fiimous human group that writhes 
With snakes in wild festoon — 

In ramous wTCstlings interlaced 
A forest Laocoon — 

Like Titans of primeval girth 

By tortures overcome. 
Their brown enormous limbs they twine, 

Bedew^ed with tears of gum — 
Fierce agonies that ought to yell, 

But, like the marble, dumb. 



THE ELM TREE. 121 

Nay, yonder blasted elm that stands 

So like a man of sin. 
Who, frantic, flings his arms abroad 

To feel the -worm within — 
For all that gesture, so intense, 

It makes no sort of din ! 

An universal silence reigns 

In rugged bark or peel, 
Except that very trunk which rings 

Beneath the biting steel — 
Meanwhile the woodman plies his axe 

With unrelenting zeal ! 

No rustic song is on his tongue, 

No whistle on his lips ; 
But with a quiet thoughtfulness 

His trusty tool he grips, 
And, stroke on stroke, keeps hacking out 

The bright and flying chips. 

Stroke after stroke, with frequent dint 

He spreads the fatal gash ; 
Till, lo ! the remnant fibres rend, 

With harsh and sudden crash, 
And on the dull-resounding turf 

The jarring branches lash ! 

! now the forest trees may sigh, 

The ash, the poplar tall. 
The elm, the birch, the drooping beech. 
The aspens — one and all. 
With solemn groan 
And hollow moan 
Lament a comrade's fall ! 



122 THE ELM TREE. 

A goodly elm, of noble girth, 
That, thrice the human span — 

While on their variegated course 
The constant seasons ran — 

Through gale, and hail, and fiery bolt, 
Had stood erect as man. 

But now, like mortal man himself, 
Struck down by hand of God, 

Or heathen idol tumbled prone 
Beneath the Eternal's nod, 

In all its giant bulk and length 
It lies along the sod ! 

Ay, now the forest trees may grieve 
And make a common moan 

Around that patriarchal trunk 
So newly overthrown ; 

And with a murmur recognize 
A doom to be their own ! 

Tlie echo sleeps : the idle axe, 

A disregarded tool, 
Lies crushinoj with its passive weischt 

The toad's reputed stool — 
The woodman wipes his dewy brow 

Within the shadows cool. 

No zephyr stirs : the ear may catch 
The smallest insect-hum ; 

But on the disappointed sense 
No mystic whispers come ; 

No tone of sylvan sympathy. 
The forest trees are dumb. 



TUE ELM TREE. 12P 

No leafy noise, nor inward voice, 

No sad and solemn sound, 
That sometimes murmurs overhead, 

And sometimes underground ; 
As in that shady avenue, 

Where lofty elms abound ! 



PART lU. 



The deed is done : the tree is Ioav 

That stood so lono; and firm ; 
The woodman and his axe are gone, 

His toil has found its term ; 
And where he wrought the speckled thrush 

Securely hunts the worm. 

The cony from the sandy bank 

Has run a rapid race. 
Through thistle, bent, and tangled fern. 

To seek the open space ; 
And on its haunches sits erect 

To clean its furry face. 

The dappled fawn is close at hand. 

The hind is browsing near, — 
And on the larch's lowest bough 
The ousel whistles clear ; 
But checks the note 
Within its throat, 
As choked with 6ud<len feaj ! 



124 THE ELM TREE. 

With sudden fear her wormy quest 
The thrush abruptly quits — 

Through thistle, bent, and tangled fein 
The startled cony flits ; 

And on the larch's lowest bough 
No more the ousel sits. 

With sudden fear 
The dappled deer 
Effect a swift escape ; 
But well might bolder creatures start, 

And fly, or stand agape, 
With rising hair and curdled blood, 
To see so grim a Shape ! 

The very sky turns pale above ; 

The earth grows dark beneath ; 
The human terror thrills with cold, - 

And draws a shorter breath — 
An universal panic owns 

The dread approach of Death ! 

With silent pace, as shadows come, 
And dark as shadows be, 

The grisly phantom takes his stand 
Beside the fallen tree. 

And scans it with his gloomy eyes, 
And laughs with horrid glee 

A dreary laugh and desolate, 
Where mirth is void and null, 

As hollow as its echo sounds 
Within the hollow skull — 

*' Whoever laid this tree along, 
His hatchet was not dull ! 



THE ELM TREE, 125 

" The human arm and human tool 

Have done their duty well ! 

But after sound of rino;ino; axe 

Must sound the ringing knell ; 

When elm or oak 

Have felt the stroke 

My turn it is to fell ! 

•I 
" No passive unregarded tree, 

A senseless thing of wood, 
Wherein the sluggish sap ascends 

To swell the vernal bud — 
But conscious, moving, breathing trunks 

That throb with living blood ! 

'' No forest monarch yearly clad 

In mantle green or brown ; 
That unrecorded lives, and falls 

By hand of rustic clown — 
But kings who don the purple robe, 

And wear the jewelled crown. 

" Ah ! little recks the royal mind. 

Within his banquet-hall. 
While tapers shine and music breathea 

And beauty leads the ball, — 
He little recks the oaken plank ^ 

Shall be his palace wall ! 

" Ah, little dreams the haughty peer^ 

The while his Mcon flies — 
Or on the blood-bedabbled turf 

The antlered quarry dies — 
That in his own ancestral park 

The narrow dwelling lies. 



126 THE ELM TREE. 

" But haughty peer and mighty king 

One doom shall overwhelm ! 
The oaken cell 
Shall lodge him well 

Whose sceptre ruled a realm — 
While he who never knew a home 

Shall find it in the elm ! 

" The tattered, lean, dejected wretch, 
Who begs from door to door, 

And dies within the cressy ditch, 
Or on the barren moor. 

The friendly elm shall lodge and clothe 
That houseless man and poor ! 

" Yea, this recumbent rugged trunk, 
That lies so long and prone, 

With many a fallen acorn-cup, 
And mast and firry cone — 

This rugged trunk shall hold its share 
Of mortal flesh and bone ! 

•' A miser hoarding heaps of gold, 
But pale with ague-fears — 

A wife lamenting love's decay. 
With secret cruel tears, 

Distilling bitter, bitter drops 
From sweets of former years — 

*' A man within whose gloomy mind 
Oifence had darkly sunk. 

Who out of fierce Revenge's cup 
Hath madly, darkly drunk — 

Grief, Avarice, and Hate shall sleep 
Within this very trunk ! 



TUE ELM TREE. 127 

" This massy trunk that lies along. 

And many more must fall — 

For the very knave 

Who digs the grave, 

The man who spreads the pall, 

And he who tolls the funeral bell, 

The elm shall have them all ! 

" The tall abounding elm that grows 

In hedge-rows up and down : 
In field and forest, copse and park, 

And in the peopled town. 
With colonics of noisy rooks 

That nestle on its crown. 

" And well the abounding elm may grow 

In field and hedge so rife,- 
In forest, copse, and wooded park, 

And 'mid the city's strife. 
For, every hour that passes by 

Shall end a human life ! " 

The phantom ends : the shade is gone 

The sky is clear and bright ; 
On turf, and moss, and fallen tree, 

There glows a ruddy light ; 
And bounding through the golden fern 

The rabbit comes to bite. 

The thrush's mate beside her sits 

And pipes a merry lay ; 
The dove is in the evergreens ; 

And on the larch's spray 
The fly-bird flutters up and down 

To catch its tiny prey. 



128 THE ELM TREE. 

The gentle hind and dappled fawn 
Are coming up the glade ; 

Each harmless furred and feathered thing 
Is glad, and not afraid — 

But on my saddened spirit still 
The shadow leaves a shade. 

A secret, vague, prophetic gloom, 
As though by certain mark 

I kncAV the fore-appointed tree, 
Within whose rugged bark 

This warm and living frame shall find 
Its narrow house and dark. 

That mystic tree which breathed to me 

A sad and solemn sound. 
That sometimes murmured overhead. 

And sometimes underground ; 
Within that shady avenue 

Where lofty elms abound. 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 



A ROMANCE. 



** A jolly place," said he, " in times of old. 
But something ails it now : the place is curst.'* 

Hart-Leap Well, by "Wordsworth. 



PART I. 

Some dreams we have are nothing else but dreams, 
Unnatural and full of contradictions ; 
Yet others of our most romantic schemes 
Are somethinof more than fictions. 



o 



It might be only on enchanted ground ; 
It might be merely by a thought's expansion ; 
But in the spirit, or the flesh, I found 
An old deserted mansion. 

A residence for woman, child, and man, 
A dwelling-place, — and yet no habitation ; 
A house, — but under some prodigious ban 
Of excommunication. 

Unhinged the iron gates half open hung, 
Jarred by the gusty gales of many winters, 
That from its crumbled pedestal had flung 
One marble globe in splinters. 



130 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 

No doo; was at the threshold. OTeat or small ; 
No pigeon on the roof — no household creature — 
No cat demurely dozing on the wall — 
Not one domestic feature. 

No human figure stirred, to go or come ; 
No fiice looked forth from shut or open casement : 
No chimney smoked — there was no sign of home 
From parapet to basement. 

"With shattered panes the grassy court was starred ,' 
The time-worn coping-stone had tumbled after ; 
And through the ragged roof the sky shone, barred 
With naked beam and rafter. 



O'er all there hung a shadow and a fear ; 
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 
The place is haunted ! 

The flower grew wild and rankly as the weed, 
Roses with thistles struggled for espial. 
And vagrant plants of parasitic breed 
Had overgrown the dial. 

But, gay or gloomy, steadfast or infirm, 
No heart was there to heed the hour's duration : 
All times and tides were lost in one long term 
Of stagnant desolation. 

The wren had built within the porch, she found 
Its quiet loneliness so sure and thorough ; 
And on the lawn, — within its turfy mound, — 
The rjibbit made his burrow. 



THE HAUNTED ROUSE. 131 

The rabbit wild and gray, that flitted through 

The shrubby clumps, and frisked, and sat, and vanished 

But leisurely and bold, as if he knew 

His enemy was banished. 

The wary crow, — the pheasant from the woods, — 
Lulled by the still and everlasting sameness, 
Close to the mansion, like domestic broods. 
Fed with a "shocking tameness." 

The coot was swimming in the reedy pond, 
Beside the water-hen, so soon affrighted ; 
And in the weedy moat the heron, fond 
Of solitude, alighted. 

The moping heron, motionless and stiff. 
That on a stone, as silently and stilly, 
Stood, an apparent sentinel, as if 
To guard the water-lily. 

No sound was heard, except, from far away, 
The ringmg of the whitwall's shrilly laughter, 
Or, now and then, the chatter of the jay, 
That Echo murmured after. 

But Echo never mocked the human tongue ; 
Some weighty crime, that Heaven could not pai*don, 
A secret curse on that old building hung. 
And its deserted garden. 

The beds were all untouched by hand or tool ; 
No footstep marked the damp and mossy gravel, 
Each walk as green as is the mantled pool 
For want of human travel. 



132 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 

The vine unpruned, and the neglected peach, 
Prooped from the wall with which they used to grappk 
And on the cankered tree, in easy reach, 
Rotted the golden apple. 

But awfully the truant shunned the ground^ 
The vagrant kept aloof, and daring poacher : 
In spite of gaps that through the fences round 
Invited the encroacher. 

For over all there hung a cloud of fear ; 
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted. 
And said, as plain as Avhisper in the ear. 
The place is haunted ! 

The pear and quince lay squandered on the grass ; 
The mould was purple with unheeded showens 
Of bloomy plums — a wilderness it was 
Of fruits, and weeds, and flowers ! 

The marigold amidst the nettles blew, 

The gourd embraced the rose-bush in its ramble, 

The thistle and the stock together grew, 
The hollyhock and bramble. 

The bear-bine with the lilac interlaced ; 

The sturdy burdock choked its slender neighbor, 

The spicy pink. All tokens were effaced 

Of human care and labor. 

The very yew formality had trained 

Tc such a rigid pyramidal stature. 

For want of trimming had almost regained 

The rao-o-edness of nature. 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 133 

The fountain was a-dry — neglect and time 
Had marred the work of artisan and mason, 
And efts and croaking frogs, begot of slime, 
Sprawled in the ruined basin. 

The statue, fallen from its marble base, 
Amidst the refuse leaves, and herbage rotten, 
Lay like the idol of some bygone race, 
Its name and rites forgotten. 

On every side the aspect was the same, 
All ruined, desolate, forlorn and savage : 
No hand or foot within the precinct came 
To rectify or ravage. 

For over all there hunor a cloud of fear : 

O 7 

A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear. 
The place is haunted ! 



PART If. 



O, very gloomy is the house of woe, 
Where tears are falling while the bell is knelling, 
With all the dark solemnities which show 
That Death is in the dwelling ! 

0, very, very dreary is the room 
Where love, domestic love, no longer nestles. 
But, smitten by the common stroke of doom, 
The corpse lies on the trestles ! 



18-1 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 

But house of woe, and hearse, and sable pall^ 
The narrow home of the departed mortal, 
Ne'er looked so gloomy as that gliostlj hall, 
With its deserted portal ! 

The centipede along the threshold crept, 
The cobweb hung across in mazy tangle, 
And in its winding-sheet the maggot slept, 
At every nook and angle. 

The keyhole lodged the earwig and her brood 
The einmets of the steps had old possession, 
' And marched in search of their diurnal food 
In undisturbed procession. 

As undisturbed as the prehensile cell 
Of moth or maggot, or the spider's tissue ; 
For never foot upon that threshold fell, 
To enter or to issue. 

O'er all there hung the shadow of a fear ; 
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted. 
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 
The place is haunted ! 

Howbeit, the door I pushed — or so I dreamed 
Which slowly, slowly gaped, — the hinges creaking 
With such a rusty eloquence, it seemed 
That Time himself Avas speaking. 

But Time was dumb within that mansion old, 
Or left his tale to the heraldic banners 
That hung from the corroded walls, and told 
Of former men and manners. 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 135 

Those tattered flags, that with the opened door 
Seemed the old wave of battle to remember, 
While fallen fragments danced upon the floor 
Like dead leaves in December. 

The startled bats flew out — bird after bird — 
The screech-owl overhead began to flutter, 
And seemed to mock the cry that she had heard 
Some dying victim utter ! 

A shriek that echoed from the joisted roof, 
And up the sUiir, and further still and further. 
Till in some rino-ino; chamber far aloof 
It ceased its tale of murther ! 

Meanwhile the rusty armor rattled round, 
The banner shuddered, and the ragged streamer; 
All things the horrid tenor of the sound 
Acknowlediied with a tremor. 



o 



The antlers, where the helmet hung and belt. 
Stirred as the tempest stirs the forest branches, 
Or as the stag had trembled when he felt 
The bloodhound at his haunches. 

The window jingled in its crumbled frame, 
And through its many gaps of destitution 
Dolorous moans and hollow sighings came, 
Like those of dissolution. 

The wood-louse dropped, and rolled into a ball, 
Touched by some impulse occult or mechanic ; 
And nameless beetles ran along the wall 
In universal panic. 



126 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 

The subtle spider, that from overhead 
Hung like a spy on human guilt and error. 
Suddenly turned, and up its slender thread 
Ran with a nimble terror. 

The very stains and fractures on the wall. 
Assuming features solemn and terrific. 
Hinted some tragedy of that old hall. 
Locked up in hieroglyphic. 

Some tale that might, perchance, have solved the doubt, 
Wherefore amongst those flags so dull and livid 
The banner of the Bloody Hand shone out. 
So ominously vivid. 

Some key to that inscrutable appeal. 
Which made the very frame of Nature quiver, 
And every thrilling nerve and fibre feel 
So ague-like a shiver. 

For over all there hung a cloud of fear ; 
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 
The place is haunted ! 

If but a rat had lingered in the house, 
To lure the thought into a social channel ! 
But not a rat remained, or tiny mouse, 
To squeak behind the panel. 

Huge drops rolled down the walls, as if they wept ; 
And where the cricket used to chirp so shrilly 
The toad was squatting, and the lizard crept 
On that damp hearth and chilly. 



THE IIAUXTED HOUSE. 1^7 

For years no cheerful blaze had sparkled there, 
Or glanced on coat of buif or knightly metal ; 
The slug was crawling on the vacant chair, — 
The snail upon the settle. 

The floor was redolent of mould and must, 
The fungus in the rotten seams liad quickened ; 
While on tlie oaken table coats of dust 
Perennially had thickened. 

No mark of leathern jack or metal cann, 
No cup — no horn — no hospitable token, — 
All social ties between that board and man 
Had lono; ao;o been broken. 

There was so foul a rumor in the air. 
The shadow of a presence so atrocious, 
No human creature could have feasted there, 
Even the most ferocious. 

For over all there hung a cloud of fear ; 
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 
The place is haunted ! 



PART III. 



'T is hard for human actions to account, 
Whether from reason or from impulse only — - 
But some internal prompting bade me mount 
The gloomy stairs and lonely. 



138 THE HALNTED HOUSE. 

Those gloomy stairs, so dark, and damp, and cold, 
With odors as from bones and relics carnal, 
Deprived of rite, and consecrated mould. 
The chapel vault, or charnel. 

Those dreary stairs, where with the sounding stress 
Of every step so many echoes blended, 
The mind, with dark misgivings, feared to guess 
How many feet ascended. 

The tempest with its spoils had drifted in, 
Till each unwholesome stone was darkly spotted, 
As thickly as the leopard's dappled skin, 
With leaves that rankly rotted. 

The air was thick — and in the upper gloom 
The bat — or something in its shape — was winging ; 
And on the wall, as chilly as a tomb. 
The death's-head moth was clinging. 

That mystic moth, which, with a sense profound 
Of all unholy presence, augurs truly ; 
And with a grim significance flits round 
The taper burning bluely. 

Such omens in the place there seemed to be, 
At every crooked turn, or on the landing, 
The straining eyeball was prepared to see 
Some apparition standing. 

For over all there hung a cloud of fear ; 
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
And said as plain as whisper in the ear, 
The place is haunted ! 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 139 

Yet no portentous shape the sight amazed ; 
Each object plain, and tangible, and valid ; 
But from their tarnished frames dark fiiiiures crazed. 
And faces spectre-pallid. 

Not merely with the mimic life that lies 

Within the compass of art's simulation ; 

Their souls were looking through their painted eyes 

With awful speculation. 

On every lip a speechless horror dwelt ; 
On every brow the burthen of affliction ; 
The old ancestral spirits knew and felt 
The house's malediction. 

Such earnest woe their features overcast, 

They might have stirred, or sighed, or wept, or spoken, 

But, save the hollow moaning of the blast. 

The stillness was unbroken. 

No other sound or stir of life was there, 
Except my steps in solitary clamber, 
From fii(j;ht to flidit, from humid stair to stair. 
From chamber into chamber. 

Deserted rooms of luxury and state, 
That old magnificence had richly furnished 
With pictures, cabinets of ancient date, 
And carvings gilt and burnished. 

Rich hanixinors. storied by the needle's ai-t 
With Scripture history, or classic fable; 
But all had faded, save one ragged part, 
Where Cain was slaying Abel. 



140 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 

The silent waste of mildew and the moth 
Had marred the tissue with a partial ravage ; 
But undecajing frowned upon the cloth 
Each feature stern and savage. 

The sky was pale ; the cloud a thing of doubt ; 
Some hues were fresh, and some decayed and duller ; 
But still the Bloody Hand shone strangely out 
With vehemence of color ! 

The Bloody Hand that with a lurid stam 
Shone on the dusty iloorj a dismal token, 
Projected from the casement's painted pane, 
Where all beside was broken. 

The Bloody Hand significant of crime, 
That, glaring on the old heraldic banner, 
Had kept its crimson unimpaired by time, 
In such a wondrous manner ! 

O'er all there hung the shadow of a fear ; 
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear. 
The' place is haunted ! 

The death-watch ticked behind the panelled oak, 
Inexplicable tremors shook the arras. 
And echoes strange and mystical awoke, 
The fancy to embarrass. 

Prophetic hints that filled the soul with dread, 
But through one gloomy entrance pointing mostly, 
The while some secret inspiration said, 
That chamber is the ghostly ! 



THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 141 

Across the door no gossamer festoon 

Swung pendulous — no web — no duiiy fringes, 

No silky chrysalis or white cocoon 

About its nooks and hinges. 

The spider shunned the interdicted roon;. 
The moth, the beetle, and the fly were fe nished 
And where the sunbeam fell athwart the 4oom 
The very midge had vanished. 

One lonely ray that glanced upon a bed, 
As if with awful aim direct and certain, 
To show the Bloody Hand in burmng ret 
Embroidered on the curtain. ^ 

And yet no gory stain was on the quilt — 
The pillow in its place had slowly rotted; 
The floor alone retained the trace of guilt. 
Those boards obscurely spotted. 

Obscurely spotted to the door, and thence 
With mazy doubles to the grated casement — 
0, what a tale they told of fear intense. 
Of horror and amazement ! 

What human creature in the dead of night 
Had coursed like hunted hare that cruel distance 1 
Had sought the door, the window, in his flight, 
Striving for dear existence ? 



o 



What shrieking spirit in that bloody room 
Its mortal frame had violently quilted ? — 
Across the sunbeam, with a sudden gloom, 
A ghostly shadow flitted. 



142 THE HAUNTED HOUSE. 

Across the sunbeam, and along the wall, 
But painted on the air so very dimly, 
It hardly veiled the tapestry at all, 
Or portrait frowning grimly. 

O'er all there hung the shado^Y of a fear ; 
A sense of mystery the spirit daunted. 
And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 
The place is haunted ! 






GUIDO AND MARINA. 

A DRAMATIC SKETCH. 

[Gumo, hr.ving f^ven himself up to the pernicious study of magic and astrolouy, 
casts his nativity, and resolves that at a certjiin lionr of a certain day he is to i.lc. 
Marina, to wean him from this fatal delusion, which luith gradually wasted him 
away, even to the verge of death, advances the honr-liand of the clock. He is sup- 
posed to be seated beside her in the garden of his palace at Venice.] 

Giiido. Clasp me again ! Mj soul is very sad ; 
And hold thy lips in readiness near mine, 
Lest I die suddenly. Clasp me again ! 
'Tis such a gloomy day ! 

Mar. Nay, sweet, it shines. 

Giddo. Nay, then, these mortal clouds are in mine eyes. 
Clasp me again ! — ay, with thy fondest force, 
Give me one last embrace. 

Mar. Love, I do clasp thee ! 

Giiido. Then closer — closer - for I feel thee not ; 
Unless thou art this pain around my heart. 
Thy lips at such a time should never leave me. 

Mar. What pain — what time, love? Art thou ill? Alas! 
I see it in thy cheek. Come, let me nurse thee. 
Here, rest upon my heart. 

Giiido. Stay, stay, Marina. 

Look ! — when I raise my hand against the sun, 
Is it red with blood ? 

Mar. Alas ! iiiv love, what Avilt ihou ? 



144 ^ GUIDO AND MARINA. 

Thj hand is red — and so is mine — all hands 
Show thus against the sun. 

Gvido. All living men's, 

Marina, but not mine. Hast never heard 
How death first seizes on the feet and hands, 
And thence goes freezing to the very heart? 

Mar. Yea, love I know it ; but what then ? — the hand 
I hold, is glowing. 

Guido. But my eyes ! — my eyes ! — 

Look there^ Marina — there is death's own sign. 
I have seen a corpse. 

E'en when its clay was cold, would st 11 have seemed 
Alive, but for the eyes — such deadly eyes ! 
So dull and dim ! Marina, look in mine ! 

Mar. Ay, they are dull. No, no — not dull, but bright : 
I see myself within them. Now, dear love, 
Discard these horrid fears that make me weep. 

Gvido. Marina, Marina — where thy image lies, 
There must be brightness — or perchance they glance 
And glimmer like the lamp before it dies. 
Oh, do not vex my soul with hopes impossible ! 
My hours are ending. wiock stHkes. 

Mar. Nay, they shall not ! Hark ! 

The hour — four — five — hark ! — six ! — the very time ! 
And, lo ! thou art alive ! My love — dear love — 
Now cast this cruel phantasm from thy brain — 
This wilful, wild delusion — cast it off ! 
The hour is come — and (/o?tc ! What ! not a word ! 
What, not a smile, even, that thou livest for me ! 
Come, laugh and clap your hands as I do — come. 
Or kneel with me, and thank th' eternal God 
For this blest passover ! Still sad ! still mute ! — 
Oh, why art thou not glad, as I am glad, 



GUIDO AND MARINA. I4n 

That death forbears thee ? Nay, hatli all my love 
Been spent in vain, that thou art sick of life ? 

Giiido. Marina, I am no more attached to death 
Than Fate hath doomed me. I am his elect, 
That even now forestalls thy little light, 
And steals with cold inl'ringement on my breath : 
Already he bedims my spiritual lamp. 
Not yet his due— not yet — quite yet. though Time, 
Perchance, to warn me, speaks before his wont : 
Some minutes' space my hlood has still to flow — 
Some scanty breath is left me still to spend 
In very bitter sighs. 

But there's a point, true measured by my pulse, 
Beyond or short of which it may not live 
By one poor throb. Marina, it is near. 

Mar. Oh, God of heaven ! 

Guido. Ay, it is very near. 

Therefore, cling now to me, and say f^irewell 
While I can answer it. Marina, speak ! 
Why tear thine helpless hair ? it will not save 
Thy heart from breaking, nor pluck out the thought 
That stings thy brain. Oh, surely thou hast known 
This truth too long to look so like Despair ? 

Mar. 0, no, no, no ! — a hope - a little hope — 
I had ercAvhile — but I have heard its knell. 
Oh, would my life were measured out Avith thine — 
All my years numbered — all my days, my hours, 
My utmost minutes, all summed up with thine ! 

Guido. Marina — 

Mar. Let me weep— no, let me kneel 

To God — but rather thee — to spare this end 
That is so wilful. Oh, for pity's sake ! 
Pluck back thy precious spirit from these clouds 

10 



14G GUIDO AND MARINA. 

That smother it with death. Oh ! turn from death, 
And do not woo it with such dark resolve, 
To make me widowed. 

Guido. I have lived my term. 

Mar. No — not thj term— not the natural term 
Of one so young. Oli 1 thou hast spent thy years 
In sinful waste upon unholy — 

Guido. Hush ! 

Marina. 

Mar. Nay, I must. Oh ! cursed lore, 
That hath supplied this spell against thy life. 
Unholy learning — devilish and dark — 
Study \ — God ! God ! — how can thy stars 
Be bright with such black knowledge ? Oh, that men 
Should ask more light of them than guides their steps 
At evening to love 1 

Guido. Hush, hush, oh hush ! 

Thy words have pained me in the midst of pain. 
True, if I had not read, I should not die ; 
For, if I had not read, I had not been. 
All our acts of life are pre-ordained. 
And each pre-acted, in our several spheres, 
By ghostly duplicates. They sway our deeds 
By their performance. What if mine hath been 
To be a prophet and foreknow my doom ? 
If I had closed my eyes, the thunder then 
Had roared it in my ears ; my own mute brain 
Had told it with a tongue. What must be, must. 
Therefore I knew when my full time would fall ; 
And now — to save thy widowhood of tears — 
To spare the very breaking of thy heart, 
I may not gain even a brief hour's reprieve ! 
What seest thou yonder ? 



GUIDO AND MARINA. 147 

Mar. ^Vhere ? — a tree — the sun 

Siiikiiigr behind a tree. 

Giiido. It is DO tree, 

JNIarina, but a shape — the awful shape 
That comes to claim me. Secst thou not his shade 
Darken before his steps ? Ah me ! how cold 
It comes against my feet ! Cold, icy cold I 
And blacker than a pall. 

Mar. My love ! 

Guido. Oh, heaven 

And earth, where are ye ? Marina — [Guido dies. 

Mar. I am here ! 

What wilt thou? dost thou speak ? — Methought I heard thee 
Just whispering. lie is dead ! — God ! he's dead ! 



STANZAS TO TOM WOODGATE, 



OF HASTINGS. 



Tom ! — are you still within this land 
Of livers — still on Hastings' sand, 

Or roamins: on the waves : 
Or has some billow o'er you rolled, 
Jealous that earth should lap so bold 

A seaman in her graves ? 

On land the rush-light lives of men 
Go out but slowly ; nine in ten, 

By tedious long decline — 
Not so the jolly sailor sinks, 
Who founders in the wave, and drinks 

The apoplectic brine ! 



Ay, while I write, mayhap your head 
Is sleeping on an oyster-bed — 

I hope 'tis far from truth ! — 
With periwinkle eyes ; — your bone 
Beset with mussels, not your own, 

And corals at your tooth ! 



STAXZAS TO TOM WOODGATE. 149 

Still does the Chance pursue the chance 
The main affords — the Aidant dance 

In safety on the tide ? 
Still flies that sign of mj good-Avill 
A little hunting thing — but still 

To thee a flag of pride ? 

Does that hard, honest hand now clasp 
The tiller in its careful grasp — 

With every summer breeze 
When ladies sail, in lady-fear — 
Or, tug the oar, a gondolier 

On smooth Macadam seas ? 

Or are you Avhere the flounders keep, 
Some dozen briny fathoms deep. 

Where sand and shells abound — 
With some old Triton on your chest, 
And twelve grave mermen for a 'quest, 

To find that you are — drowned ? 

Swift is the wave, and apt to bring 
A sudden doom — perchance I sing 

A more funereal strain ; 
You have endured the utter strife — 
And arc — the same in death or life, 

A good man in the main ! 

Oh, no — I hope the old brown eye 
Still watches ebb, and flood, and sky; 

That still the old brown shoes 
Are sucking brine up — pumps indeed 1 
Your tooth still full of ocean weed, 

Or Indian — which you choose. 



150 STANZAS TO TOM WOOD GATE. , 

I like you, Tom ! and in these lays 
Give honest worth its honest praise. 

No pufF at honor's cost ; 
For though you met these words of mine; 
All letter-learning was a line 

You, somehow, never crossed ! 

Mayhap we ne'er shall meet again, 
Except on that Pacific main, 

Beyond this planet's brink ; 
Yet as we erst have braved the weather, 
Still may we float awhile together, 

As comrades on this ink ! 

Many a scudding gale we've had 
Together, and, my gallant lad. 

Some perils we have passed ; 
When huge and black the wave careered, 
And oft the giant surge appeared 

The master of our mast : — 

'Twas thy example taught me how 
To climb the billow's hoary brow. 

Or cleave the raging heap — 
To bound along the ocean wild, . 
With danger only as a child, 

The waters rocked to sleep. 

Oh, who can tell that brave delight. 
To see the hissing wave in might. 

Come rampant like a snake ! 
To leap his horrid crest, and feast 
One's eyes upon the briny beast. 

Left couchant in the wake ! 



STANZAS TO TOM WOODGATE. lol 

The simple shepherd's love is still 
To bask upon a sunny hill, 

The herdsman roams the vale — 
With both their fimcies I agree ; 
Be mine the swelling, scooping sea, 

That is both hill and dale ! 

1 yearn for that brisk spray — I yearn 
To feel the wave from stem to stern 

Uplift the plunging keel; 
That merry step we used to dance 
On board the Aidant or the Chance, 

The ocean ' toe and heel.' 

I long to feel the steady gale 

That fills the broad distended sail — 

The seas on either hand ! 
My thought, like any hollow shell, 
Keeps mocking at my ear the swell 

Of waves asrainst the land. 



o 



It is no fable — that old strain 
Of syrens ! — so the witching main 

Is sino-inor — and I sio;h ! 
My heart is all at once inclined 
To seaward — and I seem to find 

The waters in my eye ! 

Methinks I see the shining beach ; 
The merry waves, each after each, 

Rebounding o'er the flints ; 
I spy the grim preventive spy ! 
The jolly boatmen standing nigh ! 

The maids in morning chintz I 



152 STANZAS TO TOM WOODGATE. 

And there they float — the sailing craft ! 
The sail is up - the wind abaft — 

The ballast trim and neat. 
Alas ! 'tis all a dream — a lie ! 
A printer's imp is standing by, 

To haul my mizzen sheet ! 

My tiller dwindles to a pen — 
My craft is that of bookish men — • 

My sale — let Longman tell ! 
Adieu, the wave, the wind, the spray ! 
Men — maidens — chintzes — fade away I 

Tom Woodgate, fare thee well ! 



THE MARY. 

A SEA-SIDE SKETCH. 



Lov'ST tliou not, Alice, with the early tide 
To see the hardy Fisher hoist his mast, 

And stretch his sail towards the ocean wide. — 
Like God's own beadsman going forth to cast 

His net into the deep, which doth provide 
Enormous bounties, hidden in its vast 

Bosom like Charity's, for all who seek 

And take its gracious boon thankful and meek ? 

The sea is bright with morning, — but the dark 
Seems still to linger on his broad black sail, 

Tor it is early hoisted, like a mark 

For the low sun to shoot at with his pale 

And level beams : — All round the shadowy bark 
The green wave glimmers, and the gentle gale 

Swells in her canvas, till the waters show 

The keel's new speed, and whiten at the bow. 

Then look abaft — (for thou canst understand 
That phrase) — and there he sitteth at the stern, 

Grasping the tiller in his broad brown hand, 
The hardy Fisherman. Thou may'st discern 



154 THE MARY. 

Ten fathoms off the wrinkles in the tann'd 

And honest countenance that he will turn 
To look upon us, with a quiet gaze — 
As we are passing on our several ways. 

So, some ten days ago, on such a morn. 
The Mary, like a seamew, sought her spoil 

Amongst the finny race : 't was when the corn 
Woo'd the sharp sickle, and the golden toil 

Summon'd all rustic hands to fill the horn 
Of Ceres to the brim, that brave turmoil 

Was at the prime, and Woodgate went to reap 

His harvest too, upon the broad blue deep. 

His mast was up, his anchor heaved aboard, 
His mainsail stretching in the first gray gleams 

Of morning, for the wind. Ben's eye was stored 
With fishes — fishes swam in all his dreams, 

And all the goodly east seemJd but a hoard 
Of silvery fishes, that in shoals and streams 

Groped into the deep dusk that fill'd the sky, 

For him to catch in meshes of his eye. 

For Ben had the true sailor's sanguine heart. 
And saw the future with a boy's brave thought, 

No doubts, nor faint misgivings had a part 
In his bright visions — ay, before he caught 

His fish, he sold them in the scaly mart, 

And summ'd the net proceeds. This should have 
brought 

Despair upon him when his hopes were foil'd, 

But though one crop was marr'd, again he toil'd 

And sow'd his seed afresh. — Many foul blights 
Perish'd his hard-won gains — yet he had plann'd 



THE MARY. 155 

No sclicmcs of too extravagant deliglits — 
No goodly houses on the Goodwin sand — 

But a small, humble home, an<l loving nights, 
Such as his honest heart and earnest hand 

Might fairly purchase. Where these hopes too airy ? 
Such as they were, they rested on thee, Mary. 

She was the prize of many a toilsome year. 
And hard-won wages, on the perilous sea — 

Of savings ever since the shipboy's tear 

Was shed for home, that lay beyond the lee ; — 

She was purveyor for his other dear 
Mary, and for the infant yet to be 

Fruit of their married loves. These made him dote 

Upon the homely beauties of his boat. 

Whose pitch black hull loll'd darkly on the wave 

No -gayer than one single stripe of blue 
Could m ike jier swarthy sides. She seem'd a slave, 

A negro among boats — that only knew 
Hardship aiid rugged toil — no pennons brave 

Flauijted upon the mast — but oft a few 
Dark dripping jackets flutter'd to the air, 
Ens.'irns of hardihood and toilsome care 

And when she ventured for the deep, she spread 

A tawny sail against the sunbright sky, 
Dark as a cloud that journeys overhead — 

But then those tawny wings were strctch'd to fly 
Across the wide sea desert for the bread 

Of babes and mothers — many an anxious eye 
Dwelt on her course, and many a fervent ])rayV 
Invoked the Heavens to protect and spare. 



156 THE MARY. 

Where is she now ? The secrets of the deep 
Are dark and hidden from the human ken ; 

Only the sea-bird saw the surges sweep 
Over the bark of the devoted Ben, — 

Meanwhile a widow sobs and orphans weep, 
And sighs are heard from weather-beaten men^ 

Dark, sunburnt men, uncouth, and rude, and hairy^ 

While loungers idly ask, "Where is the Mary?" 



5IISCELLANE0US POEMS 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



FAIR INES. 



SAW ye not fuir Ines 7 
She 's gone into the west, 
To dazzle -when the sun is down. 
And rob the world of rest : 
She took our daylight with her, 
The smiles that Ave love best, 
With morning blushes on her cheeir, 
And pearls upon her breast. 

turn again, fair Ines, 
Before the fall of night, 

For fear the moon should shine alone, 

And stars unrivalled bright ; 

And blessed will the lover be 

That walks beneath their light, 

And breathes the love against thy cheek 

1 dare not even write ! 

Would I had been, fair Ines, 
That gallant cavalier. 
Who rode so gayly by thy side, 
And whispered thee so near ! — 



160 FAIR INES. 



Were there no bonny dames at home, 
Or no true lovers here, 
That he should cross the seas to win 
The dearest of the dear ? 

I saw thee, lovely Lies, 

Descend along the shore, 

With bands of noble gentlemen, 

And banners waved before : 

And gentle youth and maidens gay, 

And snowy plumes they wore ; — 

It would have been a beauteous dream, 

— If it had been no more ! 

Alas, alas ! fair Ines, 

She went away with song, 

With music waiting on her steps, 

And shoutings of the throng ; 

But some were sad, and felt no mirth. 

But only music's wrong. 

In sounds that sang farewell, farewell. 

To her you 've loved so long. 

Farewell, farewell, fair Ines ! 

That vessel never bore 

So fair a lady on its deck, 

Nor danced so light before, — 

Alas for pleasure on the sea, 

And sorrow on the shore! 

The smile that blest one lover's heart 

Has broken many more 



TO HOPE. 161 



TO HOPE. 



On ! take, young seraph, take thy harp, 

And play to me so cheerily ; 
For grief is dark, and care is sharp, 

And life wears on so wearily. 
Oh ! take thy harp ! 
Oh ! sing as thou wert wont to do, 

When, all youth's sunny season long, 

I sat and listen'd to thy song, 
And yet 'twas ever, ever new, 
With magic in its heaven-tuned string, — 

The future bliss thy constant theme. 
Oh! then each little woe took wing 

Away, like phantoms of a dream ; 
As if each sound 
That flutter'd round 

Had floated over Lethe's stream I 

By all those bright and happy hours 

We spent in life's sweet eastern bow'rs. 

Where thou wouldst sit and smile, and show, 

Ere buds were come, where flowers would grow, 

And oft anticipate the rise 

Of life's warm sun that scaled the skies ; 

By many a story of love and glory, 

And friendships proniiseil oft to me; 

By all the fliith I lent to thee, — 

Oh ! take, young seraph, take thy harp, 

And play to me so cheerily ; 
For grief is dark, and care is sharp. 

And life wears on so wearily. 

Oh ! take thy harp ! 
11 



162 TO HOPE. 

Perchance the strings will sound less clear, 

That long have lain neglected hj 
In sorrow's mistj atmosphere ; 
It ne'er maj speak as it has spoken 

Such jojous notes so brisk and high ; 
But are its golden chords all broken ? 
Are there not some, though weak and low, 
To play a lullaby to woe ? 
But thou canst sins; of love no more, 

For Celia show'd that dream was vain ; 
And many a fancied bliss is o'er, 

That comes not e'en in dreams again. 
Alas ! alas ! 
How pleasures pass, 
And leave thee now no subject, save 
The peace and bliss beyond the grave ! 
Then be thy flight among the skies : 

Take, then, oh ! take the skylark's wing, 
And leave dull earth, and heavenward rise 

O'er all its tearful clouds^ and sing 
On skylark's wing ! 

Another life-spring there adorns 
Another youth, without the dread 

Of cruel care, wliose ci'own of thorns 
Is here for manhood's aching head. 

Oh ! there are realms of welcome day, 

A world where tears are wiped away ! 

Then be thy flight am.ong the skies : 
! Take, then, oh ! take the skylark's wing, 

And leave dull earth, and heavenward rise 
O'er, all its tearful clouds, and sing 
On skylark's wing ! 

July, 1821. 



SONG. 1G3 



SOXG. 

TO MY WIFE. 



Those eyes that were so bright, love, 

Have now a dimmer shine, — 
But all they've lost in light, love, 

Was what they gave to mine : 
But still those orbs reflect, love, 

The beams of former hours, — 
That ripen" d all my joys, my love, 

And tinted all my flowers ! 

Those locks were brown to see, love, 

That now are turned so gray. — 
But the years were spent with me, love, 

That stole their hue away. 
Thy locks no longer share, love. 

The golden glow of noon, — 
But I've seen the world look fair, my love, 

When silvered by the moon ! 

That brow was smootli and f lir, love, 

That looks so shaded now, — 
But for me it bore the care, love. 

That spoiled a bonny brow. 
And though no longer there, love, 

The gloss it had of yore, — 
Still Memory looks and dotes, my love, 

Where Hope admired before ! 



164 TO CELIA. 



TO CELIA. 

Old Fiction says that Love hath ejes. 
Yet sees, unhappy boy 1 with none 5 

Blind as the night ! But Fiction lies, 
For Love doth always see with one. 

To one our graces all unveil, 

To one our flaws are all exposed ; 

But when with tenderness we hail, 

He smiles, and keeps the critic closed. 

But when he 's scorned, abused, estranged, 

He opes the eye of evil ken. 
And all his angel friends are changed 

To demons — and are hated then ! 

Yet once it happ'd, that, semi-blind, 
He met thee, on a summer day, 

And took thee for his mother kind, 
And frowned as he was pushed away. 

But still he saw thee shine the same, 
Though he had ope'd his evil eye, 

And found that nothins; but her shame. 
Was left to know his mother by ! 

And ever since that morning sun 
He thinks of thee ; and blesses Fate 

That he can look with both 011 one 
Who hath no ugliness to hate. 



TUE DEPAllTUllE OF SLWIMEK. 1G5 



Till-: DKrAirruKt: of summer. 

SuM.MER is gone on swallows' wings, 

And eaitli luis buritsd all lier flo Wei's . 

No more the lark, the linnet sings, 

But silence sits in faded l;owers. 

There is a shadow on the plain 

Of Winter ere he conies airain, — 

There is in woods a solemn sound 

Of hollow warnings whispered round, 

As Echo in her deep recess 

For once had turned a prophetess. 

Shuddering Autumn stops to list. 

And breathes his fear in sudden sighs, 

With clouded face, and hazel eyes 

That quench themselves, and hide in mist. 

Yes, Sunniier 's gone like pageant bright 
Its sjlorious days of o;olden \hA\t 
Are gone — the mimic suns that quiver, 
Then melt in Time's daik-flowinji; river. 
Gone the sweetly-scented breeze 
That spoke in music to the trees ; 
Gone for damp and chilly breath, 
As if fresh blown o'er marble seas, 
Or newly from the lungs of Death. — 
Gone its virgin I'oses" blushes, 
AVarm as when Aurora rushes 
Freshly from the god's embrace. 
With all her shame upon her face. 
Old Time hath laid them in the mould; 
Sure he is Idind as well as old. 
Whose hand relentless never spares 
Young cheeks so beauty -bright as theirs ! 



166 TUE DEPAKTUKE OF SUMMER. 

Gone are the flame-eyed lovers now 
From where so blushing-blest they tarried 
Under the hawthorn's blossom-bough, 
Gone ; for Day and Night are married. 
All the light of love is fled : — 
Alas ! that negro breasts should hide 
The lips that were so rosy red, ' 
At morning and at even-tide ! 

Deli2:htful Summer ! then adieu 
Till thou shalt visit us anew : 
But who without regretful sigh 
Can say adieu, and see thee fly? 
Not he that e'er hath felt thy power, 
His joy expanding like a flower 
That Cometh after rain and snow, 
Looks up at heaven, and learns to glow : — 
Not he that fled from Babel-strife 
To the green Sabbath-land of life. 
To dodge dull Care 'mid clustered trees, 
And cool his forehead in the breeze, — 
Whose spirit, weary- worn perchance, 
Shook from its wings a weight of grief, 
And perched upon an aspen-leaf. 
For every breath to make it dance. 

Farewell ! — on wings of sombre stain. 
That blacken in the last blue skies, 
Thou fly'st ; but thou wilt come again 
On the gay wings of butterflies. 
___^ Spring at thy approach will sprout 
^"^ Her new Corinthian beauties out, 

Leaf-woven homes, where twitter-words 
Will grow to songs, and eggs to bird:J ; 



THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER. 167 

Ambitious buds shall swell to flowers. 



-J 



And April smiles to sunnj hours. 

Bright days shall be, and gentle nights 

Full of soft breath and echo-lio-hts. 

As if the god of sun-time kept 

His ejes half-open while he slept. 

Koses shall be where roses were, 

Not shadows, but reality ; 

As if they never perished there, 

But slept in immortality : 

Nature shall thrill with new deliorht, 

And Time's relumined river run 

Warm as young blood, and dazzling bright 

As if its source were in the sun ! 

But say, hath Winter then no charms ? 
Is there no joy, no gladness, warms 
His aged heart ? no happy Aviles 
To cheat the hoary one to smiles ? 
Onward he comes — the cruel North 
Pours his furious whirlwind forth 
Before him — and we breathe the breath 
Of famished bears that howl to death. 
Onward he comes from rocks that blanch 
O'er solid streams that never flow ; 
His tears all ice, his locks all snow. 
Just crept from some huge avalanche — 
A thing half-breathing and half-warm, 
As if one spark began to glow 
Within some statue's marble form, 
Or pilgrim stiffened in the storm. 
! will not Mirth's light arrows fail 
To pierce that frozen coat of mail 7 



168 THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER. 

! will not joj but strive in vain 
To liglit up those glazed eyes again 7 

No ! take him in, and blaze the oak, 
And pour the Avine, and warm the ale ; 
His sides shall shake to many a joke, 
His tongue shall thaAV in many a tale, 
His eyes grow bright, his heart be gay, 
And even his palsy charmed away. - 
What heeds he then the boisterous shout 
Of angry winds that scold without. 
Like shrew^ish wives at tavern door 7 
What heeds he then the wild uproar 
Of billows burstmg on the shore 'I 
In dashing waves, in howling breeze, 



There is a music that can charm him ; 
When safe, and sheltered, and at ease. 
He hears the storm that cannot harm him. 

But hark ! those shouts ! that sudden din 
Of little hearts that laugh within. 
! take him where the youngsters play, 
And he will grow as young as they ! 
They come ! they come ! each blue-eyed Sporty 
The Twelfth-Nio;ht Kino^ and all his court — 
'T is Mirth fresh crowned with mistletoe ! 
Music with her merry fiddles, 
Joy ''on light fantastic toe," 
Wit with all his jests and riddles, 
Singing and dancing as they go. 
And Love, young Love, among the rest, 
A welcome — nor unbidden guest. 

But still for Summer dost thou grieve? 
Then read our poets — they shall weave 



THE DEPARTURE OF SUMMER. 169 

A garden of green fancies still, 

Where thj wish may rove at will. 

They have kept for after treats 

The essences of summer sweets, 

And eclioes of its songs that wind 

In endless music through the mind : 

They have stamped in visible traces 

The 'thoughts that breathe," in words that shine — 

The flights of soul in sunny places — 

To greet and company with thine. 

These shall wino; thee on to flowers — 

The past or future that shall seem 

All the brighter in thy dream 

For blowing in such desert hours. 

The summer never shines so brio-ht 

As thouo'ht of in a winter's nio;ht : 

And the sweetest, loveliest rose 

Is in the bud before it blows ; 

The dear one of the lover's heart 

Is painted to his longing eyes, 

In charms she ne'er can realize — 

But w^hen she turns again to part. 

Dream thou then, and bind thy brow 

With wreath of fancy roses now, 

And drink of summer in the cup 

Where the INIuse hath mixed it up ; 

The '^ dance, and song, and sun-burnt mirth," 

With the warm nectar of the earth : 

Drink ! 't will glow in every vein, 

And thou shalt dream the winter through : 

Then waiven to the sun again. 

And find thy summer vision true ! 



no ODE: AUTUMN. 

ODE: 

AUTUMN. 

I SAW old Autumn in the mistj mom 
Stand shadowless like silence, listening 
To silence, for no lonelj bird would sing 
Into his hollow ear from woods forlorn, 
Nor lowly hedge nor solitary thorn ; — 
Shaking his languid locks all dewy bright 
With tangled gossamer that fell by night, 
Pearling his coronet of golden corn. 

Where are the songs of Summer'? — With the sun, 

Oping the dusky eyelids of the South, 

Till shade and silence waken up as one. 

And Morning sings with a warm odorous mouth. 

Where are the merry birds 7 — Away, away, 

On panting wings through the inclement skies, 

Lest owls should prey 

Undazzled at noon-day. 
And tear with horny beak their lustrous eyes. 
Where are the blooms of Summer 1 — In the west, 
Blushing their last to the last sunny hours, 
When the mild Eve by sudden Night is prest 
Like tearful Proserpine, snatched from her flowers 

To a most gloomy breast. 
Where is the pride of Summer, — the green prime,- 
The many, many leaves all twinkling '] — Three 
On the mossed elm ; three on the naked lime 
Trembling, — and one upon the old oak tree ! 

Where is the Dryad's immortality ? — 
Gone into mournful cypress and dark yew. 
Or wearing the long gloomy Winter through 
In the smooth holly's green eternity. 



ODE : AUTUMN. 1 \ 

The squirrel gloats on his accomplished hoard, 

The ants have brimmed their garners with ripe grair 

And honej-bees have stored 
Tb : sweets of summer in their luscious cells ; 
The swallows all have winged across the main ; 
But here the Autumn melancholy dwells, 

And sighs her tearful spells 
Amongst the sunless shadows of the plain. 
Alone, alone, 
Upon a mossy stone. 
She sits and reckons up the dead and gone, 
With the last leaves for a love-rosary, 
Whilst all the withered world looks drearily, 
Like a dim picture of the drowned past ^ 
In the hushed mind's mysterious far away. 
Doubtful what ghostly thing will steal the last 
Into that distance, gray upon the gray. 

0, go and sit with her, and be o'ershaded 
Under the languid downfall of her hair : 
She wears a coronal of flowers faded 
Upon her forehead, and a face of care ; — 
There is enough of Avithered everywhere 
To make her bower, — and enough of gloom ; 
There is enough of sadness to invite. 
If only for the rose that died, — whose doom 
Is Beauty's, — she that with the living bloom 
Of conscious cheeks most beautifies the light ; — 
There is enough of sorrowing, and quite 
Enouo-h of bitter fruits the earth doth bear — 
Enough of chilly droppings for her bowl ; 
Enough of fear and shadowy despair. 
To frame her cloudy prison for the soul ! 



172 SONG. — BALLAD. 

SONQ. 

FOR MUSIC. 

A LAKE and a fairy boat 

To sail in the moonlight clear, — 

And merrily we would float 

From the dragons that watch us here ! 

Thy gown should be snow-white silk ; 
And strings of orient pearls, 
Like gossamers dipped in milk, 
Should twine with thy raven curls ! 

Red rubies should deck thy hands, 
And diamonds should be thy dower — 
But fairies have broke their wands. 
And wishing has lost its power ! 



BALLAD. 



Spring it is cheery, 

Winter is dreary, 
Green leaves hang, but the brown must fly; 

When he 's forsaken. 

Withered and shaken, 
What can an old man do but die ? 

Love will not clip him, 

Maids will not lip him, 
Maud and Marian pass him by ; 

Youth it is sunny, 

Age has no honey, — 
What can an old man do but die 7 



HYMN TO THE SUN. 173 

June it was jolly, 

for its folly ! 
A dancing leg and a laughing eye I 

Youth may be silly, 

Wisdom is chilly, — 
What can an old man do but die 7 

Friends they are scanty, 

Beggars are plenty, 
If he has followers, I know why ; 

Gold 's in his clutches, 

(Buying him crutches !) — 
What can an old man do but die ? 



HYiMN TO THE SUN. 

Giver of glowing light ! 
Though but a god of other days. 

The kings and sages 

Of wiser ages 
Still live and gladden in thy genial rays. 

King of the tuneful lyre, 
Still poets' hymns to thee belong ; 

Though lips are cold 

Whereon of old 
Thy beams all turned to worshipping and song ! 

Lord of the dreadful bow. 
None triumph now for Python's death : 

But thou dost save 

From hungry grave 
The life that hangs upon a summer breath. 



174 TO A COLD BEAUTY. 

Father of rosy day, 
No more thy clouds of incense rise ; 
But waking flowers 
At morning hours 
Give out their sweets to meet thee in the skies, 

God of the Delphic fane, 
No more thou listenest to hymns suhhme ; 

But they will leave 

On winds at eve 
A solemn echo to the end of time. 



TO A COLD BEAUTY. 

Lady, wouldst thou heiress be 
To Winter's cold and cruel part? 

When he sets the rivers free. 

Thou dost still lock up thy heart ; — 

Thou that shouldst outlast the snow 

But in the whiteness of thy brow ? 

Scorn and cold neglect are made 
For winter gloom and winter wind, 

But thou wilt wrong the summer air, 
Breathing it to words unkind, — 

Breath which only should belong 

To love, to sunlight, and to song ! 

When the little buds unclose. 

Bed, and white, and pied, and blue. 

And that virgin flower, the rose, 
Opes her heart to hold the dew, 

Wilt thou lock thy bosom up 

With no jewel in its cup 7 



RUTH. 175 

Let not cold December sit 

Thus in Love's peculiar throne; — 

Brooklets are not prisoned now, 
But crystal frosts are all agone, 

And that which hangs upon the spray, 
It is no snow, but flower of May ! 



RUTH. 

She stood breast-high amid the com, 
Clasped by the golden light of morn, 
Like the sweetheart of the sun, 
Who many a glowing kiss had won. 

On her cheek an autumn flush, 
Deeply ripened ; — such a blush 
In the midst of brown was born, 
Like red poppies grown with corn. 

Round her eyes her tresses fell ; 
Which were blackest none could tell. 
But lono; lashes veiled a lio;ht 
That had else been all too bright. 

And her hat, with shady brim, 
Made her tressy forehead dim ; — 
Thus she stood amid the stooks, 
Praising God with sweetest looks : — 

Sure, I said, Heaven did not mean 
Where I reap thou shouldst but glean 
Lay thy sheaf adown and come. 
Share my harvest and my home. 



176 TUE SEA OF DEATH. 

THE SEA OF DEATH. 

A FRAGMENT. 

Methought I saw 

Life swiftly treading over endless space ; 
And, at her foot-print, but a bygone pace, 
The ocean-past, which, with increasing wave, 
Swallowed her steps like a pursuing grave. 

Sad were my thoughts that anchored silently 
On the dead waters of that passionless sea, 
Unstirred by any touch of living breath : 
Silence hung over it, and drowsy Death, 
Like a gorged sea-bird, slept with folded wings 
On crowded carcasses — sad passive things 
That wore the thin gray surface like a veil 
Over the calmness of their features pale. 

And there were spring-faced cherubs that did sleep 

Like water-lilies on that motionless deep. 

How beautiful ! with brisiht unruffled hair 

On sleek unfretted brows, and eyes that were 

Buried in marble tombs, a pale eclipse ! 

And smile-bedimpled cheeks^ and pleasant lips, 

Meekly apart, as if the soul intense 

Spake out in dreams of its own innocence : 

And so they lay in loveliness, and kept 

The birth-night of their peace, that Life even wept 

With very envy of their happy fronts ; 

For there were neighbor brows scarred by the brunts 

Of strife and sorrowing — where Care had ^et 

His crooked autograph, and marred the jet 

Of glossy locks, with hollow eyes forlorn, 

And lips that curled in bitterness and scorn — 



AUTUMN. — BALLAD. 177 

Wretched,^ as tliej had breathed of this world's pain. 

And so bequeathed it to the world again, 

Through the beholder's heart, in heavy sighs. 

So lay they garmented in torpid light. 

Under the pall of a transparent night. 

Like solemn apparitions lulled sublime 

To everlasting rest, — and with them Time 

Slept, as he sleeps upon the silent face 

Of a dark dial in a sunless place. 



AUTUJ^IN. 

The autumn skies are flushed with gold, 
And fair and bright the rivers run ; 
These are but streams of winter cold, 
And painted mists that quench the sun. 

In secret boughs no sweet birds sino;, 
In secret boughs no bird can shroud ; 
These are but leaves that take to wincr 
And wintry winds that pipe so loud. 



OJ 



'Tis not trees' shade, but cloudy glooms 
That on the cheerless valleys fall ; 
The flowers are in their grassy tombs, 
And tears of dew are on them all. 



BALLAD. 

She 'vS up and gone, the graceless girl 
And robbed my foiling years ; 

My blood before was thin and cold, 
But now "t is turned to tears ; — 

12 



178 I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER. 

My shadow falls upon my grave ; 

So near the brink I stand, 
She might have staid a little yet, 

And led me by the hand ! 

Ay, call her on the barren moor, 

And call her on the hill, — 
'T is nothing but the heron's cry, 

And plover's answer shrill; 
My child is flown on wilder wings 

Than they have ever spread. 
And I may even walk a waste 

That widened when she fled. 

Full many a thankless child has been, 

But never one like mine : 
Her meat was served on plates of gold, 

Her drink was rosy wine ; 
But now she '11 share the robin's food^ 

And sup the common rill, 
Before her feet will turn again 

To meet her father's will ! 



I iie:me^iber, i remember. 

I REMEMBER, I remember 
The house where I was born. 
The little window where the sun 
Came peeping in at morn ; 
He never came a wink too soon. 
Nor brought too long a day ; 
But now I often wish the night 
Had borne my breath away I 



BALLAD. 279 



I remember, I remember 
The roses red and white. 
The violets, and the lilj-cups, 
Those flowers made of light ! 
The lilacs where the robin built, 
And where mj brother set 
The laburnum on his birth-day, — 
The tree is living yet ! 



I remember, I remember 

Where I was used to swino-. 

And thought the air must rush as fresh 

To swallows on the winf? : 

My spirit flew in feathers then, 

That is so heavy now. 

And summer pools could hardly cool 

The fever on my brow ! 

I remember, I remember 

The fir-trees dark and high ; 

I used to think their slender tops 

Were close against the sky : 

It was a childish ignorance, 

But now 't is little joy 

To know I 'm further ofi* from heaven 

Than when I was a boy. 



BALLAD. 



Sigh on, sad heart, for Love's eclipse 
And Beauty's fairest queen. 

Though 't is not for my peasant lips 
To soil her name between : 



180 BALLAD. 

A king iiiiglit lay his sceptre down, 
But I am poor and iiauglit, 

The brow should wear a golden crown 
That wears her in its thought. 

The diamonds glancing in her hair, 

Whose sudden beams surprise, 
Might bid such humble hopes beware 

The glancing of her eyes ; 
Yet looking once, I looked too long, 

And if my love is sin, 
Death follows on the heels of WTong, 

And kills the crime Avithin. 

Her dress seemed wove of lily leaves, 

It was so pure and fine, 
lofty wears, and lowly weaves, 

But hoddan gray is mine ; 
And homely hose must step apart, 

Where gartered princes stand. 
But may he wear my love at heart 

That wins her lily hand ! 

Alas! tliere 's far from russet frize 

To silks and satin gowns. 
But I doubt if God made like de2;rees 

In courtly hearts and clowns. 
My father wronged a maiden's mirth, 

And brought her cheeks to blame, 
And all that 's lordly of my birth 

Is my reproach and shame ! 

'Tis vain to weep, — 't is vain to sigh, 
'Tis vain this idle speech, 

For where her happy pearls do lie 
]\Iy tears may never reach ; 



THE WATER LADY. Ig] 

Yet when I 'm gone, e'en loftj pride 

May siij of wliat has been, 
IT is love was nobly born and died, 

Though all the rest was mean ! 

My speech is rude, — but speech is weak 

Such love as mine to tell. 
Yet had I Avords, I dare not speak, 

So, lady, fare thee well ; 
I will not wish thy better state 

Was one of low deo-ree, 
But I must weep that partial fate 

Made such a churl of me. 



THE WATER LADY. 

Alas ! the moon should ever beam 
To show what man should never see ! 
I saw a maiden on a stream, 
And fair was she ! 

I staid a Avhile, to see her throw 
Her tresses back, that all beset 
The fair horizon of her brow 
With clouds of jet. 

I staid a little while to vicAV 
Her cheek, that wore in place of red 
The bloom of water, tender blue. 
Daintily spread. 

I staid to watch, a little space, 
Her parted lips if she would sing : 
The waters closed above her face 
W'itli many a rmg. 



182 THE EXILE. 



And still I staid a little more ; 
Alas ! she never comes again ! 
I throw mj flowers from the shore, 
And watch in vain. 

I know my life will fade away, 
I know that I must vainly pine ; 
For I am made of mortal clay, 
But she 's divine ! 



THE EXILE. 

The swallow with summer 

Will wing o'er the seas, 
The wind that I sigh to 

Will visit thy trees, 
The ship that it hastens 

Thy ports will contain. 
But me — I must never 

See England again ! 

There 's many that weep there^ 

But one weeps alone. 
For the tears that are falling 

So far from her own ; 
So far from thy own, love, 

We know not our pain ; 
If death is between us. 

Or only the main. 

When the white cloud reclines 
On the verge of the sea, 

I fancy the white cliifs. 
And dream upon thee : 



TO AN ABSENTEE. — SONG. 183 

But the cloud spread its wings 

To the blue heaven and flies. 
We never shall meet, love, 

Except in the skies ! 



TO AN ABSENTEE. 



O'er hill, and dale, and distant sea. 
Through all the miles that stretch between, 
My thought must fly to rest on thee. 
And would, though worlds should intervene. 

Nay, thou art now so dear, methinks 
The further we are forced apart. 
Affection's firm elastic links 
But bind the closer round the heart. 

For now we sever each from each, 
I learn what I have lost in thee ; 
Alas ! that nothing less could teach 
How great indeed my love should be ! 

Farewell ! I did not know thy worth ; 
But thou art gone, and now 'tis prized : 
So angels walked unknown on earth. 
But when they flew were recognized I 



SONG. 



The stars are with the voyager 
Wherever he may sail ; 

The moon is constant to her time : 
The sun will never fail ; 



184 ODE TO THE MOON. 

But follow, follow round the world, 
The green earth and the sea ; 

So love is with the lover's heart. 
Wherever he may be. 

Wherever he maj be, the stars 

Must daily lose their li^ht ; 
The moon will veil her in the shade 

The sun will set at nio;ht. 
The sun may set, but constant love 

Will shine when he 's away ; 
So that dull night is never night. 

And day is brighter day. 



ODE TO THE MOON. 

Mother of light ! how fairly dost thou go 
Over those hoary crests, divinely led ! — 
Art thou that huntress of the silver bow 
Fabled of old 1 Or rather dost thou tread 
Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below, 
Like the wild chamois from her Alpine snow, 
Where hunter never climbed, — secure from dread? 
How many antique fancies have I read 
Of that mild presence ! and how many wrought ! 

Wondrous and briji-ht, 

Upon the silver light, 
Chasing fair figures with the artist, Thought ! 

What art thou like 7 — sometimes I see thee ride 

A far-bound galley on its perilous way, 
Wliilst breezy waves toss up tlieir silvery spray ; - 
Sometimes beliold thee glide, 



ODE TO THE MOON. 185 

Clustered hj all thj family of stars, 

Like a lone widow, through the welkin wide, 

Whose pallid cheek the midnight sorrow mars ; — 

Sometimes I watch thee on from steep to steep^, 

Timidly lighted hy thy vestal torch. 

Till in some Latmian cave I see thee creep, 

To catch the young Endymion asleep, — 

Leaving thy splendor at the jagged porch ! — 

0, thou art beautiful, howe'er it be ! 
Huntress, or Dian, or whatever named ; 
And he, the veriest Pagan, that first framed 
A silver idol, and ne'er worshipped thee ! — 
It is too late, or thou shouldst have my knee ; 
Too late now for the old Ephesian vows, 
And not divine the crescent on thy brows ! — 
Yet, call thee nothing but the mere mild moon, 

Behind those chestnut bousihs, 
Casting their dappled shadows at my feet ; 
I will be grateful for that simple boon, 
In many a thoughtful verse and anthem sweet, 
And bless thy dainty face whene'er Ave meet. 

In nights far gone, — ay, far away and dead, — 
Before Care-fretted Avith a lidless eye, — 
I was thy wooer on my little bed, 
Letting the early hours of rest go by, 
To see thee flood the heaven with milky light, 
And feed thy snow-white swans, before I slept ; 
Eor thou wert then purveyor of my dreams, — 
Thou wert the fairies' armorer, that kept 
Their burnished helms, and crowns, and corselets bright. 
Their spears and glittering mails ; 



18G ODE TO THE MOON. 

And ever thou didst spill in -winding streams 

Sparkles and midnight gleams. 
For fishes to new gloss their argent scales ! — 

Why sighs ?- — why creeping teai^s? — why clasped hands j 
Is it to count the boy's expended dower? 
That fairies since have broke their gifted wands 1 
That young Delight, like any overblown flower, 
Gave, one by one, its sweet leaves to the ground 7 — 
Why then, fair Moon, for all thou mark'st no hour, 
Thou art a sadder dial to old Time 

Than ever I have found 
On sunny garden-plot, or moss-grown tower, 
Mottoed with stern and melancholy rhyme. 

Why should I grieve for this 1 — 1 must yearn, 

Whilst Time, conspu'ator with Memory, 

Keeps his cold ashes in an ancient urn. 

Richly embossed with childhood's revelry, 

With leaves and clustered fruits, and flowers etemc,— 

(Eternal to the world, though not to me,) 

Aye there will those brave sports and blossoms be, 

The deathless wreath, and undecayed festoon, 

When I am hearsed within, — 
Less than the pallid primrose to the moon. 
That now she watches through a vapor thin. ' 

So let it be : — Before I lived to sigh. 
Thou wert in Avon, and a thousand rills, 
Beautiful orb ' an I so, whene'er I lie 
Trodden, thou wilt be gazing from thy hills. 
Blest be thy lo^dng light, where'er it spills, 
And blessed thy fair face, mother mild ! 
Still shine, the soul of rivers as they run, 



TO . 187 

Still lend thy lonely lamp to lovers fond, 
And blend their pliglited shadows into one : — 
Still smile at even on the bedded child. 
And close his eyelids with thy silver wand ! 



TO 



Welcome, dear heart, and a most kind good-morrow ; 
The day is gloomy, but our looks shall shine : — 
Flowers I have none to give thee, but I borrow 
Their sweetness in a verse to speak for thine. 

Here are red roses, gathered at thy cheeks, — 
The white were all too happy to look white : 
For love the rose, for faith the lily speaks ; 
It withers in false hands, but here 'tis bright ! 

Dost love sweet hyacinth ? Its scented leaf 
Curls manifold, — all love's delights bloAV double : 
'T is said this floweret is inscribed with grief, — 
But let that hint of a fors^iotten trouble. 

o 

I plucked the primrose at night's dewy noon ; 
Like Hope, it showed its blossoms in the night ; — 
'T was like Endymion, Avatching for the moon ! 
And here are sunflowers, amorous of light ! 

These golden buttercups are April's seal, — 
The daisy stars her constellations be : 
These grew so lowly, I was forced to kneel, 
Therefore I pluck no daisies but for thee ! 

Here 's daisies for the morn, primrose for gloom, 
Pansies and roses for the noontide hours : — 
A wight once made a dial of their bloom, — 
So may thy life be measured out by flowers ! 



188 THE FOllSAKEX.— AUTUMN. 

THE FORSAKEN. 

The dead are in tlieir silent graves, 
And the dew is cold above, 
And the living weep and sigh 
Over dust that once was love. 

Once I only wept the dead. 

But now the living cause my pain : 

How couldst thou steal me from my tears. 

To leave me to my tears again ? 

My mother rests beneath the sod, — 
Her rest is calm and very deep : 
I wished that she could see our loves, — 
But now I gladden in her sleep. 

Last night unbound my raven locks, 
The morning saw them turned to gray, ^ 
Once they were black and well beloved, 
But thou art changed, — and so are they ! 

The useless lock I gave thee once. 

To gaze upon and think of me, 

Was ta'en with smiles, — but this was torn 

In sorrow that I send to thee. 



AUTIBIN. 



The Autumn is old, 
The sere leaves are flying ; — 
He hath gathered up gold, 
And now he is dying ; — 
Old age, begin sighing I 



ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 189 

The vintage is ripe, 
The harvest is heaping ; — • 
But some that have sowed 
Have no riches for i-eaping : — - 
Poor -wretch, fall a weeping ! 

The year 's in the wane. 
There is nothino; adornino;, 
The night has no eve, 
And the day has no morning ; — 
Cold winter gives warning. 

The rivers run chill, 

The red sun is sinking, 

And I am grown old, 

And life is fiist shrinking ; — 

Here 's enow for sad thinking ! 



ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 

Come, let us set our careful breasts, 
Like Philomel, against the thorn, 
To aggravate the inward grief. 
That makes her accents so forlorn ; 
The Avorld has many cruel points, 
Whereby our bosoms have been torn, 
And there are dainty themes of grief. 
In sadness to outlast the morn, — 
True honor's dearth, affection's death, 
Neglectful pride, and cankering scorn, 
With all the piteous tales that tears 
Have watered smcc the world was born. 



190 ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 

The world ! — it is a wilderness, 

Where tears are hung on every tree ; 

Eor thus my gloomy fantasy 

Makes all things weep with me ! 

Come let us sit and watch the sky, 

And fancy clouds where no clouds be ; 

Grief is enough to blot the eye, 

And make heaven black Avith misery. 

Why should birds sing such merry notes, 

Unless they were more blest than we 7 

No sorrow ever chokes their throats, 

Except sweet nightingale : for she 

Was born to pain our hearts the more 

With her sad melody. 

Why shines the sun, except that he 

Makes gloomy nooks for Grief to hide. 

And pensive shades for Melancholy, 

When all the earth is bright beside ? 

Let clay wear smiles, and green grass wave^ 

Mirth shall not win us back again. 

Whilst man is made of his own grave, 

And fairest clouds but gilded rain ! 

I saw my mother in her shroud, 
Her cheek was cold and very pale ; 
And ever since I 've looked on all 
As creatures doomed to fail ! 
Why do buds ope, except to die ? 
Ay, let us watch the roses wither, 
And think of our loves' cheeks ; 
And, 0, how quickly time doth fly 
To bring death's winter hitlier ! 
Minutes, hours, days, and weeks. 



ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 191 

Months, years, and ages, shrink to naught ; 
An age past is but a thought ! 

Ay, let us think of him a while, 

That, with a coffin for a boat. 

Rows daily o'er the Stygian moat. 

And for our table choose a tomb : 

There 's dark enough in any skull 

To charge with black a raven plume ; 

And for the saddest funeral thoughts 

A winding-sheet hath ample room, 

Where Death, with his keen-pointed style, 

Hath writ the common doom. 

How Avide the yew-tree spreads its gloom, 

And o'er the dead lets fall its dew, 

As if in tears it wept for them, 

The many human families 

That sleep around its stem ! 

How cold the dead have made these stones, 

With natural drops kept ever wet ! 

Lo ! ^here the best, the Avorst, the world 

Doth now remember or foro^et. 

Are in one common ruin hurled. 

And love and hate are calmly met ; 

The loveliest eyes that ever shone, 

The fiiirest hands, and locks of jet. 

Is 't not enough to vex our souls. 

And fill our eyes, that we have set 

Our love upon a rose's leaf, 

Our hearts upon a violet ? 

Blue eyes, red cheeks, arc frailer yet ; 

And, sometimes, at their swift decay 

Beforehand we must fret : 

The roses bud and bloom a^ain ; 



192 ODE TO MELANCHOLY. 

imt love may haunt the grave of love, 
And watch the mould in vain. 

clasp me, sweet, whilst thou art mine* 

And do not take my tears amiss ; 

For tears must flow to wash away 

A thought that shows so stern as this : 

Porgive, if somewhile I forget, 

In woe to come, the present bliss. 

As frighted Proserpine let fall 

Her flowers at the sight of Dis, 

Even so the dark and bright will kiss. 

The sunniest things throw sternest shade, 

And there is even a happiness 

That makes the heart afraid ! 

Now let us with a spell invoke 

The full-orbed moon to grieve our eyes ; 

Not bright, not bright, but, with a cloud 

Lapped all about her, let her rise 

All pale and dim. as if from rest 

The ghost of the late buried sun 

Had crept into the skies. 

The moon ! she is the source of sighs, 

The very face to make us sad ; 

If but to think in other times 

The same calm quiet look she had, 

As if the world held nothing base, 

Of vile and mean, of fierce and bad ; 

The same fair light that shone in streams 

The fairy lamp that charmed the lad ; 

Foi- so it is, with spent delights 

She taunts men's brains, and makes them mad. 

All things are touched with melancholy, 

Born of the secret soul's mistrust, 



SONNETS. 103 

To feel her fair ethereal wings 
Weighed down with vile degraded dust : 
Even the bright extremes of joy 
Bring on conclusions of disgust, 
Like the sweet blossoms of the May, 
VYhose fragrance ends in must. 
0, give her, then, her tribute just. 
Her sighs and tears, and niusings holy f 
There is no music in the life 
That sounds with idiot laughter solely ; 
There 's not a string attuned to mirth, 
But has its chord in Melancholy. 



SONNETS. 

WRITTEN IN A VOLUME OF SHAKSPEARE. 

How bravely Autumn paints upon the sky 
The gorgeous fame of Summer which is fled ! 
Hues of all flowers that in their ashes lie, 
Tropliied in that fair light whereon they fed, 
Tulip, and hyacinth, and sweet rose red, — 
Like exhalations from the leafy mould, 
, Look here how honor glorifies the dead. 
And warms their scutcheons with a glance of gold ! 
Such is the memory of poets old, 
AVho on Parnassus' hill have bloomed elate ; 
Now they are laid under their marbles cold. 
And turned to clay, whereof they were create ; 
But god Apollo hath them all enrolled, 
And blazoned on the very clouds of fate ! 

13 



194 SONNETS. 



TO FANCY. 



Most delicate Ariel ! submissive thing, 
Won by the mind's high magic to its hest, — 
Invisible embassy, or secret guest. — 
Weighing the light air on a lighter wing ; — 
Whether into the midnight moon, to bring 
Illuminate visions to the eye of rest, — 
Or rich romances from the florid West, — 
Or to the sea, for mystic whispering, — 
Still by thy charmed allegiance to the will 
The fruitful w^ishes prosper in the brain, 
As by the fingering of fairy skill, — 
Moonlight, and waters, and soft music's strain, 
Odors, and blooms, and my Miranda's smile, 
Making this dull world an enchanted isle. 



to an enthusiast. 

Young ardent soul, graced with fair Nature's truth 
Spring warmth of heart, and fervency of mind, 
And still a large late love of all thy kind, 
Spite of the world's cold practice and Time's tooth, 
For all these gifts, I know not, in fiiir sooth, 
Whether to give thee joy, or bid thee blind 
Thine eyes with tears, — that thou hast not resigned 
The passionate fire and freshness of thy youth : 
For as the current of thy life shall flow. 
Gilded by shine of sun or shadow-stained, 
Through flowery valley or unwholesome fen, 
Thrice blessed in thy joy, or in thy woe 
Thrice cursed of thy race, — thou art ordained 
To share beyond the lot of common men. 



SONNETS. 195 

It is not death, that sometime in a sisrh 

This eloquent breath shall take its speechless flight ; 

That sometime these bright stars, that now reply 

In sunlight to the sun, shall set in night; 

That this warm conscious flesh shall perish quite, 

And all life's ruddy springs forget to flow ; 

That thoughts shall cease, and the immortal spright 

Be lapped in alien clay and laid below ; 

It is not death to know this, — but to know 

That pious thoughts, which visit at new graves 

In tender pilgrimage, will cease to go 

So duly and so oft, — and when grass waves 

Over the past-away, there may be then 

No resurrection in the minds of men. 



By every sweet tradition of true hearts, 

Graven by Time, in love with his own lore ; 

By all old martyrdoms and antique smarts, 

Wherein Love died to be alive the more ; 

Yea, by the sad impression on the shore 

Left by the drowned Leander, to endear 

That coast forever, Avhere the billows' roar 

Moaneth for pity in the poet's ear ; 

By Hero's fliith, and the foreboding tear 

That (juenched her brand's last twinkle in its fall , 

By Sappho's leap, and the low rustling fear 

That sighed around her flight ] I swear by all, 

The world shall find such pattern in my act, 

As if Love's great examples still were lacked. 



19G SONNETS. 



ON RECEIVING A GIFT. 



Look how the golden ocean shines above 

Its pebbly stones, and magnifies their girth : 

So does the bright and blessed light of love 

Its own things glorify, and raise their worth. 

As weeds seem flowers beneath the flattering brine, 

And stones like gems, and gems as gems indeed, 

Even so our tokens shine ; nay, they outshine 

Pebbles and pearls, and gems and coral weed ; 

For where be ocean waves but half so clear. 

So calmly constant, and so kindly w^arm. 

As Love's most mild and glowing atmosphere, 

That hath no dregs to be upturned by storm 7 

Thus, sweet, thy gracious gifts are gifts of price, 

And more than gold to doting Avarice. 



SILENCE. 



There is a silence where hath been no sound, 

There is a silence where no sound may be, 

In the cold grave — under the deep, deep sea. 

Or in wide desert where no life is found, 

Which hath been mute, and still must sleep profound ; 

No voice is hushed — no life treads silently. 

But clouds and cloudy shadows wander free, , 

That never spoke, over the idle ground : 

But in green ruins, in the desolate walls 

Of antique palaces, where Man hath been, 

Though the dun fox, or wild hyena, calls. 

And owls, that flit continually between. 

Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan, 

There the true Silence is, self-conscious and alone. 



SONNETS. 197 

.''he curse of Adam, the old curse of all 
rhouo;h I inherit in this feverish life 
Of worldly toil, vain wishes, and hard strife, 
And fruitless thought, in Care's eternal thrall, 
Yet more sweet honey than of bitter gall 
I taste, through thee, my Eva, my sAveet wife. 
Then what was Man's lost Paradise ! — how 
Of bliss, since love is with him in his fall ! 
Such as our own pure passion still might fr 
Of this fair earth, and its delightful bowers, 
If no fell sorrow, like the serpent, came 
To trail its venom o'er the sweetest flowers : - 
But, ! as many and such tears are ours, 
As only should be shed for guilt and shame ! 



Love, dearest lady, such as I would speak, 
Lives not within the humor of the eye ; — 
Not being but an outward fantasy. 
That skims the surface of a tinted cheek — 
Else it would wane with beauty, and grow weak 
Vs if the rose made summer, — and so lie 
Vmongst the perishable things that die, 
Tnlike the love Avhich I would give and seek, 
/hose health is of no hue — to feel decay 
/"ith cheeks' decay, that have a rosy prime. 
lOve is its own great loveliness alway, 
end takes new lustre from the touch of time ; 
ts bough owns no December and no May, 
But bears its blossom into Winter's clime. 



193 THE LAST MAN. 



"THE LAST MAN." 

'T WAS in the year two thousand and one, 

A pleasant morning of May, 

I sat on the gallows-tree all alone, 

A chanting a merry lay, — 

To think how the pest had spared my life, 

To sing with the larks that day ! 

When up the heath came a jolly knave, 
Like a scarecrow, all in rags : 
It made me crow to see his old duds 
All abroad in the wind, like flags : — • 
So up he came to the timbers' foot 
And pitched down his greasy bags. — 

Good Lord ! how blithe the old beggar was 

At pulling out his scraps, — 

The very sight of his broken orts 

Made a work in his wrinkled chaps : 

" Come down," says he, ''you Newgate-bird, 

And have a taste of my snaps ! " 

Then down the rope, like a tar from the mast, 

I slided, and by him stood ; 

But I wished myself on the gallows again 

When I smelt that beggar's food, — 

A foul beef-bone and a mouldy crust ; — 

" ! " quoth he, " the heavens are good ! " 

Then after this grace he cast him down. 

Says I, " You '11 get sweeter air 

A pace or two off, on the windward side,'^ — 

For the felons' bones lay there. — 

But he only laughed at the empty skulls, 

A.nd offered them part of his fare. 



THE LAST MAN. 199 

" I never harmed tliem^ and they won't harm me : 

Let the proud and the rich be cravens ! " 

I did not like that strange beggar man, 

He looked so up at the heavens. 

Anon he shook out his empty old poke ; 

'' There 's the crumbs," saith he, " for the ravens ! " 

It made me angry to see his face, 

It had such a jesting look ; 

But while I made up my mind to speak, 

A small case-bottle he took ; 

Quoth he, " Though I gather the green watei P^ess, 

My drink is not of the brook ! " 

Full manners-like he tendered the dram . 

0, it came of a dainty cask ! 

But, whenever it came to his turn to pull, 

'' Your leave, good sir, I must ask ; 

But I always wipe the brim with my sleeve, 

When a hangman sups at my flask ! " 

And then he laughed so loudly and long, 

The churl was quite out of breath ; 

I thought the very Old One was come 

To mock me before my death. 

And wished I had buried the dead men's boue> 

That were lying about the heath ! 

But the beggar gave me a jolly clap — 
" Come, let us pledge each other. 
For all the wide world is dead beside. 
And we are brother and brother — 
I 've a yearning for thee in my heart, 
As if we had come of one mother. 



200 THE LAST MAN. 

■* I 've a yearning for thee in my heart. 
That ahnost makes me weep, 
For as I passed from town to town 
The folks were all stone-asleep, — 
But when I saw thee sitting aloft, 
It made me both laugh and leap ! " 

^ow a curse (I thought) be on his love, 

And a curse upon his mirth, — 

An' it were not for that beggar man 

I'd be the king of the earth, — 

But I promised myself an hour should oome 

To make him rue his birth ! — 

So down we sat and boused again 

Till the sun was in mid-sky, 

When, just when the gentle west-wind came, 

We hearkened a dismal cry ; 

' Up, up, on the tree," quoth the beggar man. 

' Till these horrible dogs go by ! " 

A.ndj lo ! from the forest's far-off skirts 

They came all yelling for gore, 

A hundred hounds pursuing at once, 

And a panting hart before, 

Till he sunk adown at the gallows' foot. 

And there his haunches they tore ! 

His haunches they tore, without a horn 
To tell w^hen the chase was done ; 
And there was not a single scarlet coat 
To flaunt it in the sun ! — 
I turned, and looked at the beggar man, 
And his tears dropt one by one ! 



THE LAST MAN. 201 

And with curses sore he chid at the hounds, 

Till the last dropt out of sight ; 

Anon, saith he, " Let 's down again, 

And ramble for our deliirht. 

For the world 's all free, and we may choose 

A right cose J barn for to-night ! " 

With that, he set up his staff on end, 
And it fell with the point due west ; 
So we fared that way to a city great 
Where the folks had died of the pest — 
It was fine to enter in house and hall, 
Wherever it liked mo best ; — 

For the porters all were stiff and cold, 

And could not lift their heads ; 

And when he came where their masters lay, 

The rats leapt out of the beds : — 

The grandest palaces in the land 

Were as free as workhouse sheds. 

But the beggar man made a mumping face. 

And knocked at every gate : 

It made me curse to hear how he whined ; 

So our fellowship turned to hate, 

And I bade him walk the world by himself, 

For I scorned so humble a mate ! 

So he turned right and / turned left, 

As if we had never met ; 

And I chose a fair stone house for myself, 

For the city was all to let ; 

And for three brave holidays drank my fill 

Of the choicest that I could get. 



'202 THE LAST MAN. 

And bocause my jerkin was coarse and worn, 

I got me a properer vest ; 

It was purple velvet, stitched o'er with gold. 

And a shining star at the breast, — 

'T was enough to fetch old Joan from her grave 

To see me so purelj drest ! — 

But Joan was dead and under the mould, 

And every buxom lass ; 

In vain I watched at the window-pane, 

For a Christian soul to pass ; — 

But sheep and kine wandered up the street, 

And browsed on the new-come grass. — 

When, lo ! I spied the old beggar man. 
And lustily he did sing ! — 
His rags were lapped in a scarlet cloak. 
And a crown he had like a king ; 
So he stept right up before my gate 
And danced' me a saucy fling ! 

Heaven mend us all ! — but, within my mind 
I had killed him then and there ; 
To see him lording so braggart-like 
That was born to his beggar's fare, 
And how he had stolen the royal crown 
His betters were meant to wear. 

But God forbid that a thief should die, 

Without his share of the laws ! 

So I nimbly whipt my tackle out, 

And soon tied up his claws, — 

I was judge myself, and jury, and all, 

And solemnly tried the cause. 



THE LAST 1\IAN. 20^ 

But the beggar man would not plead, but cried 

Like a babe without its corals, 

For he knew how hard it is apt to go 

When the law and a thief have quarrels, — - 

There was not a Christian soul alive 

To speak a word for his morals. 

0, how gaylj I doffed my costly gear, 

And put on my work-day clothes ; 

I was tired of such a long Sunday life, — 

And never Avas one of the sloths ; 

But the beggar man grumbled a weary deal, 

And made many crooked mouths. 

So I hauled him off, to the gallows' foot, 

And blinded him in his bags ; 

'T was a w^eary job to heave him up. 

For a doomed man always lags ; 

But by ten of the clock he was off his legs 

In the wind, and airing his rags ! 

So there he hung, and there I stood, 

The last man left alive. 

To have my own will of all the earth : 

Quoth I, now I shall thrive ! 

But when was ever honey made 

With one bee in a hive 7 

My conscience began to gnaw my heart, 

Before the day was done, 

For the other men's lives had all gone cat 

Like candles in the sun ! — 

But it seemed as if I had broke, at last, 

A thousand necks in one ! 



204 THE LAST MAX. 

So I went and cut his body down, 

To bury it decently ; — 

God send there were any good soul alive 

To do the like by me ! 

But the wild dogs came with terrible speed, 

And bayed me up the tree ! 

My sight was like a drunkard's sight, 
And my head began to swim, 
To see their jaws all white with foam, 
Like the ravenous ocean-brim ; — 
But when the wild dogs trotted away 
Their jaws were bloody and grim ! 

Their jaws were bloody and grim, good Lord ! 

But the beggar man, where was he ? — 

There was naught of him but some ribbons of rags 

Below the gallows-tree ! — 

I know the devil, when I am dead, 

Will send his hounds for me ! — 

I 've buried my babies one by one. 
And dug the deep hole for Joan, 
And covered the faces of kith and kin, 
And felt the old church-yard stone 
Go cold to my heart, full many a time, 
But I never felt so lone ! 

For the lion and Adam were company, 
And the tio-er him beo;uiled ; 
But the simple kine are foes to my life, 
And the household brutes are wild. 
If the veriest cur would lick my hand, 
I could love it like a child ! 



THE LEE SHORE. 205^ 

And the beggar man's ghost besets my dream. 

At night, to make me madder, — 

And my wretched conscience, within mj breast, 

Is like a stinging adder ; — 

I sigh when I pass the gallows' foot, 

And look at the rope and ladder ! 

For hanging looks sweet, — but, alas ! in vam 

My desperate fancy begs, — 

I must turn my cup of sorrows quite up, 

And drink it to the dregs, — 

For there is not another man alive, 

In the world, to pull my legs ! 



THE LEE SHORE. 



Sleet ! and hail ! and thunder I 
And ye winds that rave. 

Till the sands thereunder 
Tinge the sullen wave — 

Winds, that like a demon 

Howl with horrid note 
Round the toiling seaman. 

In his tossing boat — 

From his humble dwelling 

On the shingly shore, 
Where the billows swelling 

Keep sucli hollow roar — 

From that weeping woman. 
Seeking with her cries 



206 THE DEATH-BED. 

Succor superhuman 

From the frowning skies — 

From the urchin pining 
For his father's knee — 

From the lattice shining, 
Drive him out to sea ! 

Let broad leagues dissever 
Him from yonder foam ; — 

0, God ! to think man ever 
Comes too near his home ! 



THE DEATH-BED. 

We watched her breathing through the night, 

Her breathing soft and low, 
As in her breast the wave of life 

Kept lieaving to and fro. 

So silently we seemed to speak, 

So slowlj moved about, 
As we had lent her half our powers 

To eke her living out. 

Our very hopes belied our fears. 

Our fears our hopes belied — 
We thought her dying when she slept, 

Ar.d sleeping when she died. 

For when the morn came dim and sad, 

And chill with early showers, 
Her quiet eyelids closed — she had 

Another morn than ours. 



LINES. — TO MY LAUGHTER. 20^t 

LINES 

ON SEEING MY WIFE AND TWO CHILDREN SLEEPING IN THE SAME 

CHAMBER. 

And has the earth lost its so spacious round, 
The sky its blue circumference above, 
That in this little chamber there is found 
Both earth and heaven — my universe of love ! 
All that my Grod can give me or remove, 
Here sleeping, save myself, in mimic death. 
Sweet that in this small compass I behove 
To live their living and to breathe their breath ! 
Almost I wish that with one common sish 
We might resign all mundane care and strife, 
And seek together that transcendent sky. 
Where father, mother, children, husband, wife. 
Together pant in everlasting life ! 



TO MY DAUGHTER, 

ON HER BIRTHDAY. 

Dear Fanny ! nine long years ago. 
While yet the morning sun was low, 
And rosy with the eastern glow 

The landscape smiled ; 
Whilst lowed the newly- wakened herds - 
Sweet as the early song of birds, 
I heard those first, delightful words, 

" Thou hast a child ! " 

Along with that uprising dew 

Tears glistened in my eyes, though few 

To hail a da^vning quite as neW; 



208 TO A CHILD. 

To me, as time : 
It was not sorrow — not annov — 
But like a happy maid, though coy, 
With grief-like welcome, even joy 

Forestalls its prime. 

So may'st thou live, dear ! many years, 

In all the bliss that life endears, 

Not without smiles, nor yet from tears 

Too strictly kept : 
When first thy infant littleness 
I folded in my fond caress, 
The greatest proof of happiness 

Was this — I wept. 



TO A CHILD 

EMBRACING HIS MOTHER. 



Love thy mother, little one ! 
Kiss and clasp her neck again, — 
Hereafter she may have a son 
Will kiss and clasp her neck in vain. 
Love thy mother, little one ! 

Gaze upon her living eyes, 
And mirror back her love for thee, — 
Hereafter thou may'st shudder sighs 
To meet them when they cannot see. 
Gaze upon her living eyes ! 

Press her lips the while they glow 
With love that they have often told, — 
Hereafter thou may'st press in woe, 
And kiss them till thine own are cold. 
Press her lips the while they glow ! 



STANZAS. 209 

0, revere her raven hair ! 

Although it be not silver-gray ; 
Too early death, led on by care, 
May snatch save one dear lock away. 
! revere her raven hair ! 

Pray for her at eve and morn, 
That heaven may long the stroke defer,—- 
For thou may'st live the hour forlorn 
When thou wilt ask to die with her. 
Pray for her at eve and morn ! 



STANZAS. 

Farewell life ! my senses swim, 
And the world is growing dim : 
Throno-ino; shadows cloud the lio;ht, 
Like the advent of the night — 
Colder, colder, colder still. 
Upward steals a vapor chill ; 
Strong the earthy odor grows — 
I smell the mould above the rose ! 

Welcome life ! the spirit strives ! 

Strength returns and hope revives ; 

Cloudy fears and shapes forlorn 

Fly like shadows at the morn, — 

O'er the earth there comes a blooit 

Sunny light for sullen gloom, 

Warm perfume for vapor cold — 

I smell the rose above the mould ! 

April, 1845. 
14 



210 TO A FALSE FRIEND. — A POET'S PORTION. 

TO A FALSE FRIEND. 

Our hands have met. but not our hearts ; 

Our hands will never meet again 

Friends if we have ever been, 

Friends we cannot nuv\^ remain: 

I only know I loved you once, 

I only know I loved in vain ; 

Our hands have met, but not our hearts ; 

Our hands will never meet again ! 

Then farewell to heart and hand ! 

I would our hands had never met : 

Even the outward form of love 

Must be resigned w^ith some regret. 

Friends we still might seem to be, 

If my wrong could e'er forget 

Our hands have joined, but not our hearts 

I would our hands had never met ! 



THE POET'S PORTION. 

What is a mine — a treasury — a dower — 
A magic talisman of mighty power ? 
A poet's wide possession of the earth. 
He has the enjoyment of a flower's birth 
Before its budding — ere the first red streaks, - 
And winter cannot rob him of their cheeks. 
Look — if his dawn be not as other men's ! 
Twenty bright flushes — ere another kens 
The first of sunlio;ht is abroad — he sees 
Its golden 'lection of the topmost trees. 
And opes the splendid fissures of the morn, 
When do his fruits delay, when doth his corn 



SONG. 211 

Linn-er for harvestino; ? Before the leaf 

Is commonly abroad, in his piled sheaf 

The flagging poppies lose their ancient flame. 

No sweet there is, no pleasure I can name, 

But he will sip it first — before the lees. 

'T is his to taste rich honey, — ere the bees 

Are busy with the brooms. Ho may forestall 

June's rosy advent for his coronal ; 

Before the expectant buds upon the bough, 

Twining his thoughts to bloom upon his brow. 

! blest to see the flower in its seed, 

Before its leafy presence ; for indeed 

Leaves ai'e but wings, on which the summer flie^ 

And each thing perishable fades and dies, 

Escaped in thought ; but his rich thinkings be 

Like overflows of immortality. 

So that what there is steeped shall perish never. 

But live and bloom, and be a joy forever. 



SONG. 

O Lady, leave thy silken thread 

And flowery tapes trie : 
There 's living roses on the busu, 

And blossoms on the tree ; 
Stoop wliere thou wilt, thy careless hana 

Some random bud will meet ; 
Thou canst not tread, but thou wilt find 

The daisy at thy feet. 

'T is like the birthday of the world, 
When earth was born in bloom ; 

The light is made of many dyes, 
The air is all perfume : 



2] 2 TIME, HOPE, AND MEMORY. 

There 's crimson buds, and white and blue 

The very rainbow showers 
Plave turned to blossoms where thej fell, 

And sown the earth with flowers. 

There 's fairy tulips in the east, 

The garden of the sun ; 
The very streams reflect the hues. 

And blossom as they run : 
While Morn opes like a crimson rose^ 

Still wet with pearly showers ; 
Then, lady, leave the silken thread 

Thou twinest into flowers ! 



TIME, HOPE, AND MEMORY. 

I HEARD a gentle maiden, in the spring. 
Set her sweet sisfhs to music, and thus sino: : 
'' Fly through the world, and I will follow thee, 
Only for looks that may turn back on me ; 

'• Only for roses that your chance may throw — 
Though withered — I will wear them on my brow, 
To be a thoughtful fragrance to my brain ; 
Warmed with such love, that they will bloom again. 

"Thy love before thee, I must ti-ead behind. 
Kissing thy foot-prints, though to me unkind ; 
But trust not all her fondness, though it seem, 
Lest thy true love should rest on a false dream. 

" Her face is smiling, and her voice is sweet : 

But smiles betray, and music sings deceit ; 

And words speak false : — yet, if they welcome prove. 

I '11 be their echo, and repeat their love. 



FLOWERS. 21 B 

'^ Onlj if wakened to sad truth, at last, 
The bitterness to come, and sAveetness past ; 
When thou art vext, then, turn as2:ain, and see 
Thou hast loved Hope, hut jMeniory loved thee." 



FLOWERS. 



I WILL not have the mad Clytie, 
Whose head is turned by the sun ; 
The tulip is a courtly quean, 
"VYhom, therefore, I will shun : 
The cowslip is a country wench, 
The violet is a nun ; — 
But I will woo the dainty rose, 
The queen of every one. 

The pea is but a wanton witch, 
In too much haste to wed, 
And clasps her rings on every hand ; 
The wolfsbane I should dread ; — 
Nor will I dreary rosemarye, 
That always mourns the dead ; — 
But I will woo the dainty rose. 
With her cheeks of tender red. 

The lily is all in white, like a saint, 

And so is no mate for me — 

And the daisy's cheek is tipped Avith a blush, 

She is of such low degree ; 

Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves, 

And the broom 's betrothed to the bee ; — 

But I will plight with the dainty rose. 

For fiiirest of all is she. 



214 TO 



TO 



\ 



Still glides the gentle streamlet on, 
"With shifting current new and strange ; 
The water that was here is gone, 
But those green shadows never change. 

Serene or ruffled bj the storm, 
On present waves, as on the past. 
The mirrored grove retains its form. 
The self-same trees their semblance cast. 

The hue each fleeting globule wears 
That drop bequeaths it to the next ; 
One picture still the surface bears, 
To illustrate the murmured text. 

So, love, however time maj flow, 
Fresh hours pursuing those that flee, 
One constant image still shall show 
Mj tide of life is true to thee. 



TO 



Let us make a leap, my dear. 
In our love, of many a year, 
And date it very far away, 
On a bright clear summer day. 
When the heart was like a sun 
To itself, and falsehood none ; 
And the rosy lips a part 
Of the very loving heart, 
And the shining of the eye 
But a sign to know it by ; — 



TO . 215 

When my faults were all forgiven, 
And my life deserved of Heaven. 
Dearest, let us reckon so, 
And love for all that Ions; a":o ; 
Each absence count a year complete, 
And keep a birthday when we meet. 



TO 



I LOVE thee — I love thee ! 

'T is all that I can say ; — 
It is my vision in the night, 

My dreaming in the day ; 
The very echo of my heart. 

The blessing when I pray : 
I love thee — I love thee ! 

Is all that I can say. 

I love thee — I love thee ! 

Is ever on my tongue ; 
In all my proudest poesy 

That chorus still i& sung ; 
It is the verdict of my eyes, 

Amidst the gay and young: 
I love thee — I love thee ! 

A thousand maids among. 

I love thee — I love thee ! 

Thy bright and hazel glance, 
The mellow lute upon those lips, 

Whose tender tones entrance ; 
But most, dear heart of hearts, thy proofs 

That still these words enhance, 
I love thee — I love thee ! 

Whatever be thy chance. 



216 SERENADE. — VERSES IN AN ALBUM. 

SERENADE. 

Ah. sweet; thou little knowest how 

I wake and passionate watches keep ; 
And yet, while I address thee now, 

Methinks thou smilest in thy sleep. 
'T is sweet enough to make me weep. 

That tender thought of love and thee, 
That while the world is hushed so deep, 

Thy soul 's perhaps awake to me ! 

Sleep on, sleep on, sweet bride of sleep ! 

With golden visions for thy dower. 
While I this midnight vigil keep. 

And bless thee in thy silent bower ; 
To me 't is sweeter than the power 

Of sleep, and fairy dreams unfurled, 
That I alone, at this still hour, 

In patient love outwatch the world, 



VERSES IN AN ALBUM. 

Far above the hollow 
Tempest, and its moan, 
Singeth bright Apollo 
In his golden zone, — 
Cloud doth never shade him, 
Nor a storm invade him, 
On his joyous throne. 

So when I behold me 

In an orb as bridit, 

How thy soul doth fold me 



BALLAD. — THE ROMANCE OF C0L0G2TE. 217 

In its throne of lifcht ! 
Sorrow never paincth 
Nor a care attaineth, 
To that blessed height. 



BALLAD. 

It was not in the winter 
Our loving lot was cast ; 
It was the time of roses. — 
We plucked them as we passed ! 

That churlish season never frowned 
On early lovers yet ! 
O, no — the world was newly crowned 
With flowers when first we met. 

'T was twilight, and I bade you go, 
But still you held me fast ; 
It was the time of roses, — 
We plucked them as we passed ! 



THE ROMANCE OF COLOGNE. 

'T IS even — on the pleasant banks of Rhine 
The thrush is singing and the dove is cooing : 
A youth and maiden on the turf recline 
Alone — and he is wooing. 

Yet woos in vain, for to the voice of love 
No kindly sympathy the maid discovers, 
Though round them both, and in tlie air above, 
The tender spirit hovers. 



218 THE ROMANCE OF COLOGNE. 

Untouched by lovely Nature and her laws. 
The more he pleads, more coyly she represses ; 
Her lips denies, and now her hand w^ithdraw^s, 
Rejecting his addresses. 

Fair is she as the dreams 3^oung poets weave, 
Bright eyes and dainty lips and tresses curly, 
In outw^ard loveliness a child of Eve, 
But cold as nymph of LurJey. 

The more Love tries her pity to engross, 
The more she chills him with a strange behavior ; 
Now tells her beads, now gazes on the Cross 
And imao;e of the Saviour. 

Forth goes the lover w^ith a farewell moan, 
As from the presence of a thing unhuman ; — 
0, what unholy spell hath turned to stone 
The young warm heart of woman ! 

* ^ ^ ' ^ ^ 

'T is midnight — and the moonbeam, cold and wan, 
On bower and river quietly is sleeping. 
And o'er the corse of a self-murdered man 
The maiden fair is w^eeping. 

In vain she looks into his glassy eyes, 
No pressure answers 4o her hands so pressing; 
In her fond arms impassively he lies. 
Clay-cold to her caressing. 

Dcsjiairing, stunned, by her eternal loss. 
She flies to succor that may best beseem her ; 
But, lo ! a frownino; ficrure veils the Cross, 
Arid hides the blest Redeemer ! 

'v'v kh stern right liand it stretches forth a scroll, 
"Wherein she reads, m melancholy letters. 



THE KEY. 219 

The cruel, fatal pact that placed her soul 
And her young heart in fetters. 

"Wretch ! sinner ! renegade to truth and God! 
Thj hoi J faith for human love to barter ! " 
No more she hears, but on the bloody sod 
Sinks, Bigotry's last martyr ! 

And side by side the hapless lovers lie ; 
Tell me, harsh priest ! by yonder tragic token, 
What part hath God in such a bond, whereby 
Or hearts or vows are broken 7 



THE KEY. 

A MOORISH R03IANXE. 

" Ou the east coast, towards Tunis, the Moors still preserve the keys 
of their ancestors' houses in Spain ; to which country they still express 
the hopes of one clay returning, and again planting the Crescent on the 
ancient walls of the Alhambra." — Scott's Travels ix Morocco and 
Algiers. 

•' Is Spain cloven in such a manner as to want closing ' " — Sakcdc 
Panza, 

The Moor leans on his cushion. 

With the pipe between his lips ; 

And still at frequent intervals 

The sweet sherbet he sips ; 

But, spite of lulling vapov 

And the sober cooling cup, 

The spirit of the swarthy Moor 

Is fiercely kindling up ! 

One hand is on his pistol. 
On its ornamented stock. 
While his finger feels the trigger 
And is busy with the lock — 



220 THE KEY. 

The other seeks his ataghan, 
And claspa its jewelled hilt — 
! much of gore in days of yore 
That crooked blade has split ! 

His brows are knit, his eyes of jet 

In vivid blackness roll, 

And gleam with fatal flashes 

Like the firo-damp of the coal ; 

His jaws are set, and through his teetn 

He draws a savage breath. 

As if about to raise the shout 

Of Victory or Death ! 

For why ? the last Zebeck that came 
And moored within the mole 
Such tidings unto Tunis brought 
^s stir his very soul — 
Jhe cruel jar of civil war, 
I'he sad and stormy reign, 
Tliat blackens like a thunder-cloud 
The sunny land of Spain ! 

No Strife of glorious Chivalry, 

For honor's gain or loss. 

Nor yet that ancient rivalry. 

The Crescent with the Cross. 

No charge of gallant Paladins 

On Moslems stern and stanch ; 

But Christians shedding Christian blood 

Beneath the olive's branch ! 

A war of hoi rid parricide, 
And brother killing brother ; 
Yea, like to '^ dogs and sons of dogs/ 
That worry one another. 



THE KEY. 221 

But let them bite and tear and fight ; 
The more the Kaffers slay, 
The sooner Hao-ar's swarmmor sons 
Shall make the land a prey ! 

The sooner shall the Moor behold 
The Alhambra's pile again, 
And those who pined in Barbary 
Shall shout for joy in Spain ; 
The sooner shall the Crescent wave 
On dear Granada's walls, 
And proud Mohammed Ali sit 
Within his father's halls ! 

''Alla-il-alla!" tiger-like 
Up springs the swarthy Moor, 
And, with a wide and hasty stride, 
Steps o'er the marble floor; 
Across the hall, till from the wall. 
Where such quaint patterns be, 
With eager hand he snatches down 
An old and massive key ! 

A massive key of curious shape, 
And dark w^ith dirt and rust. 
And well three weary centuries 
The metal might incrust ' 
For since the king Boabdil fell 
Before the native stock, 
That ancient key, so quaint to see, 
Hath never been in lock. 

Brought over by the Saracens 
Who fled across the main, 
A token of the secret hope 
Of going back again ; 



222 THE KEY. 



From race to race, from hand to hand, 
From house to house, it passed ; 
0, will it ever, ever ope 
The palace gate, at last 7 

Three hundred years and fifty-two 
On post and wall it hung — 
Three hundred years and fifty- two 
A dream to old and young ; 
But now a brighter destiny 
The Prophet's will accords : 
The time is come to scour the rust, 
And lubricate the wards. 

For should the Moor with sword and lance 

At Algesiras land. 

Where is the bold Bernardo now 

Their progress to withstand 7 

To Burgos should the Moslem come, 

Where is the noble Cid 

Five royal crowns to topple down, 

As gallant Diaz did? 

Hath Xeres any Pounder now, 

When other weapons fail. 

With club to thrash invaders rash, 

Like barley with a flail ? 

Hath Seville any Perez still, 

To lay his clusters low. 

And ride with seven turbans green 

Around his saddle-bow ? 

No ! never more shall Europe see 
Such heroes brave and bold, 
Such valor, faith, and loyalty, 
As used to shine of old ! 



THE KEY. 22£i 

No longer to one battle-cry 

United Spaniards run, 

And with their thronging spears uphold 

The Virgin and her Son ! 

From Cadiz Bay to rough Biscay 

Internal discord dwells, 

And Barcelona bears the scars 

Of Spanish shot and shells. 

The fleets decline, the merchants pine 

Eor want of foreig-n trade : 

And gold is scant ; and Alicante 

Is sealed by strict blockade ! 

The loyal fly, and valor falls, 

Opposed by court intrigue ; 

But treachery and traitors thrive, 

Upheld by foreign league ; 

While factions seeking private ends 

By turns usurping reign — 

Well may the dreaming, scheming Moor 

Exulting point to Spain ! 

Well may he cleanse the rusty key 
With Afric sand and oil, 
And hope an Andalusian home 
Shall recompense the toil ! 
Well may he swear the Moorish spear 
Through wild Castile shall sweep, 
And where the Catalonian sowed 
The Saracen shall reap ! 

Well may he vow to spurn the Cross 
Beneath the Arab hoof, 
And plant the Crescent yet again 
Above the Alhambra's roof, 



224 - SONNETS. 



When those from whom St. Jago's name 
In chorus once arose 
Are shouting faction's battle-cries, 
And Spain forgets to " Close 1 " 

Well may he swear his ataghan 

Shall rout the traitor swarm, 

And carve them into arabesques 

That show no human form — 

The blame be theirs whose bloody feuds 

Invite the savage Moor, 

And tempt him with the ancient key 

To seek the ancient door ' 



SONNETS. 

TO THE OCEAN. 



Shall I rebuke thee, Ocean, my old love, 
That once, in rage, with the wild winds at strife, 
Thou darest menace my unit of a life, 
Sending my clay below, my soul above, 
Whilst roared thy waves, like lions when they rove 
By night, and bound upon their prey by stealth 7 
Yet didst thou ne'er restore my fliinting health ? — 
Didst thou ne'er murmur gently like the dove? 
Nay, didst thou not against my own dear shore 
Full break, last link between my land and me ? — 
My absent friends talk in thy very roar, 
In thy waves' beat their kindly pulse I see, 
And, if I must not see my England more. 
Next to her soil, my grave be found in thee ! 
Coblentz, May, 1835. 



SONNETS. 225 



LEAR. 



A POOR old king, with sorrow for mj crown^ 
Throned upon straw, and mantled with the wind 
For pity, mj own tears have made me blind, 
That I might never see my children's frown ; 
And may be madness, like a friend, has thrown 
A folded fillet over my dark mind, 
So that unkindly speech may sound for kind, — 
Albeit I know not. — I am childish grown — 
And have not gold to purchase wit withal — 
I that have once maintained most royal state — 
A very bankrupt now, that may not call 
My child, my child — all-beggared save in tears, 
Wherewith I daily weep an old man's fate. 
Foolish — and blind — and overcome with years 1 



SONNET TO A SONNET. 

Rare composition of a poet-knight. 
Most chivalrous amongst chivalric men. 
Distinguished for a polished lance and pen 
In tuneful contest and in tourney-fight ; 
Lustrous in scholarship, in honor bright, 
Accomplished in all graces current then, 
Humane as any in historic ken, 
Brave, handsome, noble, affable, polite; 
Most courteous to that race become of late 
So fiercely scornful of all kind advance. 
Rude, bitter, coarse, implacable in hate 
To Albion, plotting ever her mischance, — 
Alas, fair verse ! how false and out of date 
Thy phrase " sweet enemy " applied to France ! 

15 



226 SONNETS. 



FALSE POETS AND TRUE. 



Look how the hirk soars upward and is gone 

Turning a spirit as he nears the sky ! 

His voice is heard, but body there is none 

To fix the vague excursions of the eye. 

So, poets' songs are with us, though they die 

Obscured and hid by Death's oblivious shroud, 

And earth inherits the rich melody, 

Like raining music from the morning cloud. 

Yet, few there be who pipe so sweet and loud. 

Their voices reach us through the lapse of space 

The noisy day is deafened by a crowd 

Of undistinguished birds, a twittering race ; 

But only lark and nightingale forlorn 

Fill up the silences of night and morn. 



TO 



My heart is sick with longing, though I feed 

On hope ; Time goes with such a heavy pace 

That neither brings nor takes from thy embrace, 

As if he slept — forgetting his old speed : 

For, as in sunshine only we can read 

The march of minutes on the dial's face, 

So in the shadows of this lonely place 

There is no love, and time is dead indeed. 

But when, dear lady, I am near thy heart, 

Thy smile is time, and then so swift it flies, 

It seems we only meet to tear apart 

With aching hands and lingering of eyes. 

Alas, alas ! tha't we tnust learn hours' flight 

By the same light of love that makes them bright ! 



SONNETS. 22 V 



FOR THE FODRTEENTn OF FEBRUARY. 

No popular respect will I omit 
To do thee honor on this happy daj, 
When every loyal lover tasks his wit 
His simple truth in studious rhymes to pay, 
And to his mistress dear his hopes convey. 
Rather thou knowest I would still outrun 
All calendars with Love's, — whose date alway 
Thy bright eyes govern better than the sun,— 
For with thy favor was my life begun ; 
And still I reckon on from smiles to smiles, 
And not by summers, for I thrive on none 
But those thy cheerful countenance compiles : 
! if it be to choose and call thee mine, 
Love, thou art every day my Valentine. 



TO A SLEEPING CHILD. 

O, 't IS a touching thing, to make one weep, — 
A tender infant with its curtained eye, 
Breatliing as it would neither live nor die 
With that unchanging countenance of sleep t 
As if its silent dream, serene and deep, 
Had lined its slumber Avith a still blue sky, 
So that the passive cheeks unconscious lie, 
With no more life than roses — just to keep 
The blushes warm, and the mild, odorous breath. 
blossom boy ! so calm is thy repose, 
So sweet a compromise of life and death, 
'T is pity those fiiir buds should e'er unclose 
For memory to stain their iuAvard leaf. 
Tinging thy dreams with unacquainted grief. 



228 SONNETS. 



TO A SLEEPING CHILD. 



Thine eyelids slept so beauteously, I deemed 

No eyes could wake so beautiful as they : 

Thy rosy cheeks in such still slumbers lay, 

I loved their peacefulness, nor ever dreamed 

Of dimples ; — for those parted lips so seemed, 

I never thought a smile could sweetlier play. 

Nor that so graceful life could chase away 

Thy graceful death, — till those blue eyes upbeamed. 

Now slumber lies in dimpled eddies drowned, 

And roses bloom more rosily for joy, 

And odorous silence ripens into sound, 

And fingers move to sound. — All-beauteous boy ' 

How thou dost waken into smiles, and prove. 

If not more lovely, thou art more like Love ! 



The world is with me, and its many cares. 

Its woes — its wants — the anxious hopes and feai-s 

That wait on all terrestrial affairs — 

The shades of former and of future years — 

Foreboding fancies and prophetic tears, 

Quelling a spirit that was once elate. 

Heavens ! what a wilderness the Avorld appears, 

Where youth, and mirth, and health are out of date , 

But no — a laugh of innocence and joy 

Resounds, like music of the fairy race. 

And, gladly turning from the world's annoy, 

I gaze upon a little radiant face. 

And ))less, internally, the merry boy 

Who "makes a son-shine in a shady place.' ^ 



nUMOROUS POEMS. 



HUMOROUS POEMS. 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

A GOLDEN LEGEND. 



" "\Yhat is here 1 
Gold 1 yellow, glittering,, precious gold 1 " 

TiMON OF Athens. 



To trace the Kilmansegg pedigree 
To the verj roots of the family tree, 

Were a task as rash as ridiculous : 
Through antediluvian mists as thick 
As London fog such a line to pick 
Were enough, in truth, to puzzle Old Nick, 

Not to name Sir Harris Nicholas. 

It would n't require much verbal strain 
To trace the Kill-man, perchance, to Cain ; 

But, waving all such digressions, 
Suffice it, according to family lore, 
A Patriarch Kilmansegg lived of yore. 

Who was famed for his great possessions. 

Tradition said he feathered his nest 
Throu2;h an a2;ricultural interest 
In the golden age of farming ; 
When golden eggs were laid by the geese, 
And Colchian sheep wore a golden fleece, 



232 MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

And golden pippins — the sterling kind 

Of Hesperus — noAV so hard to find — 

Made horticulture quite charming ! 

A lord of land, on his own estate 
He lived at a very lively rate, 

But his income would bear carousing ; 
Such acres he had of pasture and heath, 
"With herbage so rich from the ore beneath, 
The very ewe's and lambkin's teeth 

Were turned into gold by browsing. 

He gave, without any extra thrift, 
A flock of sheep for a birthday gift 

To each son of his loins, or daughter : 
And his debts — if debts he had — at will 
He liquidated by giving each bill 

A dip in Pactolian water. 

^Twas said that even his pigs of lead, 
By crossing with some by Midas bred, 

Made a perfect mine of his piggery. 
And as for cattle, one yearling bull 
Was worth all Smithfield-market full 

Of the golden bulls of Pope Gregory. 

The high-bred horses within his stud, 
Like human creatures of birth and blood. 

Had their golden cups and flagons : 
And as for the common husbandry nags. 
Their noses were tied in money-bags. 

When they stopped with the carts and wagons. 

Moreover, he had a golden ass, 
Sometimes at stall, and- sometimes at grass. 
That was w^orth his own weight in money — 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 233 

And a golden hive, on a golden bank, 
Where golden bees, by alchemical prank, 
Gathered gold instead of honey. 

Gold ! and gold i and gold without end ! 
He had gold to lay by. and gold to spend, 
Gold to give, and gold to lend, 

And reversions of gold in fiiturn. 
In wealth the family revelled and rolled, 
Himself and wife and sons so bold ; — 
And his daughters sang to their harps of gold 

•" bella eta del' oro ! " 



Such was the tale of the Kilmansesjcc kin 

In golden text on a vellum skin. 

Though certain people would wink and grin, 

And declare the whole story a parable — 
That the ancestor rich w^as one Jacob Ghrimes, 
Who held a long lease, in prosperous times. 

Of acres, pasture and arable. 

That as money makes money, his golden bees 
Were the Five per Cents, or which you please, 

When his cash was more than plenty — 
That the golden cups were racing affairs ; 
And his daughters, who sang Italian airs, 

Had their golden harps of Clementi. 

That the golden ass, or golden bull. 
Was English John, with his pockets full. 

Then at war by land and water : 
While beef, and mutton, and other meat, 
Were almost as dear as money to eat, 
And farmers reaped golden harvests of wheat 

At the Lord knows what per quarter ! 



234 MISS KILMANSEGG AND HEll PEECIOUS LEa. 

What diflferent dooms our birthdays bring ! 
For instance, one little manikin thing 

Survives to wear many a wrinkle ; 
While death forbids another to wake, 
And a son that it took nine moons to make 

Expires without even a twinkle : 

Into this world we come like ships, 

Launched from the docks, and stocks, and slips, 

For fortune fair or fatal ; 
And one little craft is cast away 
In its very first trip in Babbicome Bay. 

While another rides safe at Port Natal. 

What different lots our stars accord ! 

This babe to be hailed and wooed as a lord ! 

And that to be shunned like a leper ! 
One, to the world's wine, honey, and com, 
Another, like Colchester native, born 

To its vinegar, only, and pepper. 

One is littered under a roof 
Neither wind nor water proof, — 

That 's the prose of Love in a cottage, — 
A puny, naked, shivering wretch, 
The whole of whose birthright would not fetcu, 
Though Robins himself drew up the sketch, 

The bid of " a mess of pottage." 

Born of Fortunatus's kin. 
Another comes tenderly ushered in 

To a prospect all bright and burnished • 
No tenant he for life's back slums — 
He comes to the vforld as a o-entleman comes 

To a lodging ready furnished. 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 235 

And the other sex — • the tender — the fair — 

What wide reverses of fate are there ! 

Whilst Margaret, charmed bj the Bulbul rare, 

In a garden of Gul reposes. 
Poor Peggy hawks nosegays from street to street 
Till — think of that, who find life so sweet ! — 

She hates the smell of roses ! 

Not so with the infant Kilmansesifii: ! 
She was not born to steal or beor, 

Or gather cresses in ditches ; 
To plait the straw, or bind the shoe, 
Or sit all day to hem and sew, 
As females must, and not a few — 

To fill their insides with stitches ! 

She was not doomed, for bread to eat. 

To be put to her hands as well as her fc ( t — 

To carry home linen from mangles — 
Or heavy-hearted, and weary-limbed. 
To dance on a rope in a jacket trimmed 

With as many blows as spangles. 

She was one of those wdio by Fortune's boon 
Are born, as they say, with a silver spoon 

In her mouth, not a wooden ladle .: 
To speak according to poet's wont, 
Plutus as sponsor stood at her font, 

And Midas rocked the cradle. 

At her first debut she found her head 
On a pillow of down, in a downy bed. 

With a damask canopy over. 
For although by the vulgar popular saw 
All mothers are said to be •' in the straw,'^ 

Some children are born in clover. 



236 MISS kilma:ssegg axd her precious leg. 

Iler very first draught of vital air 
It was not the common chameleon fare 
Of plebeian lungs and noses, — 
No — her earliest snift' 
Of this world was a whiff 
Of the genuine Otto of RoSes ! 

-When she saw the light, it was no mere ray 
Of that light so common, so e very-day, 

That the sun each morning;; launches ; 
But six wax tapers dazzled her eyes, 
From a thing — a gooseberry-bush for size — — 

With a golden stem and branches. 

She was born exactly at half-past two, 
As witnessed a time-piece in or-molu 

That stood on a marble table — 
Showing at once the time of day, 
And a team of Gildings running away 

As fast as they were able. 
With a golden god, with a golden star, 
And a golden spear, in a golden car, 

Accordino; to Grecian fable. 

Like other babes, at her birth she cried ; 
Which made a sensation far and wide, 

Ay, for twenty miles around her ; 
For thouo;h to the ear 't was nothinoj more 
Than an infant's squall, it w^as really the roar 
Of a fifty- thousand pounder ! 
It shook the next heir 
In his library chair, 
And made him cry " Confound her ! " 

Of signs and omens there was no dearth, 
Any more than at Owen Glendower's birtb, 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 237 

Or the aclvcnt of other great people : 
Two bullocks dropped dead, 
As if knocked on the head, 
And barrels of stout 
And ale ran about, 
And the village-bells such a peal rang out, 
That tiiey cracked the village steeple. 

In no time at all, like mushroom spawn, 
Tables sprang up all over the lawn ; 
Not furnished sciintilj or shabbily, 

But on scale as vast 

As that huge repast, 

With its loads and jaro-oes 

o 
Of drink and botargoes. 

At the birth of the babe in Rabelais. 

Hundreds of men were turned into beasts, 
Like the guests at Circe"s horrible feasts. 

By the magic of ale and cider : 
And each country lass, and each country lad, 
Began to caper and dance like mad. 
And even some old ones appeared to have had 

A bite from the Naples spider. 

Then as nio-ht came on, 

It had scared King John, 
Who considered such signs not risible. 

To have seen the maroons, 

And the whirling; moons, 

And the serpents of flame, 

And Avheels of the same. 
That according to some were " whizzable." 

0, happy Hope of the Kilmanseggs ! 
Thrice happy in head, and body, and legs, 
That her parents had such full pockets ! 



288 MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LKQ. 

For had she been born of want and thrift, 
For care and nursing all adrift, 
It 's ten to one she had had to make shift 
With rickets instead of rockets ! 

And how was the precious baby drest 7 
In a robe of the East, with lace of the West, 
Like one of Croesus's issue — 
Her best bibs were made 
Of rich gold brocade, 
And the others of silver tissue. 

And when the baby inclined to nap 
She was lulled on a Gros de Naples lap, 
By a nurse in a modish Paris cap, 

Of notions so exalted, 
She drank nothing lower than Curacoa, 
Maraschino, or pink Noyau, 
And on principle never malted. 

From a golden boat, with a golden spoon^ 
The babe was fed night, morning, and noon ; 

And, although the tale seems fabulous, 
'T is said her tops and bottoms were gilt, 
Like the oats in that stable-yard palace built 

For the horse of Ileliogabalus. 

And when she took to squall and kick — 
For pain will wring and pins will prick 
E'en the wealthiest nabob's daughter — 
They gave her no vulgar Dalby or gin. 
But a liquor with leaf of gold therein, 
Videlicet, — Dantzic Water. 

In short, she was born, and bred, and nurst, 
And drest in the best from the very first, 
To please the genteelest censor — 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEO, 239 

And then, as soon as strength would allow. 
Was vaccinated, as babes are now, 
With virus ta'en from tlie best-bred cow 
Of Lord Althorpe's — now Earl Spencer. 

?l}ti- (Eljrjstcuing. 

Though Shakspeare asks us '• What 's in a name ?" 
(As if cognomens were much the same,) 

There 's really a very great scope in it. 
A name? — "why, was n't there Doctor Dodd, 
That servant at once of Mammon and God, 
Who found four thousand pounds and odd, 

A prison — a cart — and a rope in it 1 

A name ? — if the party had a voice, 
What mortal would be a Bugg by choice ? 
As a Hogg, a Grubb, or a Chubb rejoice ? 

Or any such nauseous blazon 7 
Not to mention many a vulgar name, 
That would make a door-plate blush for shame. 

If door-plates Avere not so brazen ! 

A name 7 — it has more than nominal worth, 
And belongs to good or bad luck at birth — 

As dames of a certain degree know. 
In spite of his page's hat and hose. 
His page's jacket, and buttons in rows, 
Bob only sounds like a page of prose 

Till turned into Rupertino. 

Now, to christen the infant Kilmansegg, 
For days and days it was quite a plague, 

To hunt the list in the lexicon : 
And scores were tried, like coin, by the ring, 
Ere names were found just the proper tiling, 

For a minor rich as a Mexican. 



240 MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

Then cards were sent, the presence to beg 
Of all the kin of Kilmansegg, 

White, yellow, and brown relations : 
Brothers, wardens of city halls, 
And uncles — rich as three golden balls 

From taking pledges of nations. 

Nephews, whom Fortune seemed to bewitch, 

Rising ni life like rockets — 
Nieces whose doweries knew no hitch — 
Aunts as certain of dying rich 
As candles in golden sockets — 
Cousins German, and cousins' sons, 
All thriving and opulent — some had tons 

Of Kentish hops in their pockets ! 

For money had stuck to the race through lifb 
(As it did to the bushel when cash so rife 
Posed Ali Baba's brother's wife) — 

And, down to tlip cousins and coz-lings 
The fortunate brood of the Kilmanseggs, 
As if they had come out of golden eggs, 

Were all as wealthy as " goslings." 

It would fill a Court Gazette to name 
What east and Avest end people came 

To the rite of Christianity ; 
The lofty lord and the titled dame, 

All diamonds, plumes, and urbanity ; 
The Lordship the Mayor with his golden chain, 
And two Gold Sticks, and the sheriffs twain, 
Nine foreign counts, and other great men 
With their orders or stars, to help M or N 

To renounce all pomp and vanity. 

To paint the maternal Kilmansegg 
The pen of an Eastern poet would beg, 



MISS KILMANSEGG AXD IIER PRECIOUS LEG. 243 

And need an elaborate sonnet ; 
How she sparkled Avith gems whenever she stirred, 
And her head niddle-noddled at every word, 
And seemed so happy, a paradise bird 

Had nidificated upon it. 

And Sir Jacob the father strutted and bowed, 
And smiled to himself, and laughed aloud, 

To think of his heiress and daug-hter — 
And then in his pockets he made a grope, 
And then, in the fulness of joy and hope, 
Seemed washing his hands with invisible soap 

In imperceptible Avater. 

He had rolled in money like pigs in mud. 
Till it seemed to have entered into his blood 

By some occult projection ; 
And his cheeks, instead of a healthy hue, 
As yellow as any guinea grew. 
Making the common phrase seem true 

About a rich complexion. 

And now came the nurse, and during a pause, 
Her dead-leaf satin would fitly cause 

A very autumnal rustle — 
So full of figure, so full of fuss, 
As she carried about the babe to buss. 

She seemed to be nothing but bustle. 

A wealthy Nabob was godpapa, 

And an Indian Begum was godmamma. 

Whose jewels a queen might covet ; 
And the priest was a vicar, and dean withal 
Of that temple we see with a golden ball, 

And a golden cross above it. 

16 



242 MISS KILMANSEGG AND ITER PRECIOUS LEG. 

The font was a bowl of American gold, 
Won by Raleigh in days of old, 

In spite of Spanish bravado ; 
And the book of prayer was so overrun 
With gilt devices, it shone in the sun 
Like a copy — a presentation one — 

Of Humboldt's " El Dorado." 

Gold ! and gold ! and nothing but gold ! 
The same auriferous shine behold 

Wherever the eye could settle ! 
On the walls — the sideboard — the ceiling-sky — 
On the gorgeous footmen standing by, 
In coats to delight a miner's eye 

With seams of the precious metal. 

Gold ! and gold ! and besides the gold. 
The very robe of the infant told 
A tale of wealth in every fold. 

It lapped her like a vapor I 
So fine ! so thin ! the mind at a loss 
Could compare it to nothing except a cross 

Of cobweb with bank-note paper. 

Then her pearls — 'twas a perfect sight, forsooth. 
To see them, like " the dew of her youth," 

In such a plentiful sprinkle. 
Meanwhile, the vicar read through the form, 
And ga^ e her another, not overwarm. 

That made her little eyes twinkle. 

Then the babe was crossed and blessed amain ; 
But instead of the Kate, or Ann, or Jane, 

Which the humbler female endorses — 
Instead of one name, as some people prefix. 
Kilmansegg went at the tails of six. 

Like a carria^-e of state with its horses. 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 243 

! then the kisses she got and hugs ! 
The golden mugs and the golden jugs, 

That lent fresh rays to the midges ! 
The golden knives, and the golden spoons, 
Tiie gems that sparkled like fiiiry boons, 
It was one of the Kilmansescs's OAvn saloons, 

But looked like Rundell and Bridge's ! 

Gold ! and gold ! the new and the old ! 
The company ate and drank from gold, 

They revelled, they sang, and were merry: 
And one of the Gold Sticks rose from his chair, 
And toasted "the lass with the golden hair" 

In a bumper of golden sherry. 

Gold ! still gold ! it rained on the nurse, 
Who, unlike Danae, was none the worse ; 
There was nothing but guineas glistening ! 
Fifty were given to Doctor James, 
For calling the little baby names ; 
And for saying Amen ! 
The clerk had ten, 
And that was the end of the Christening. 

Our youth ! our childhood ! that spring of springs ! 
'T is surely one of the blessedest things 

That nature ever invented ! 
When ihe rich arc wealthy beyond their wealth 
And the poor are rich in spirits and health, 

And all with their lots contented ! 

There "s little Phelim, he sings like a thrush, 
In the self-same pair of patchwork plush, 
With the self-same empty pockets, 



244 MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

That tempted his daddy so often to cut 
His throat, or jump in the water-butt — 
But what cares PheHm ? an empty nut 
Would sooner bring tears to their sockets. 

Give him a collar without a skirt, — 

That 's the Irish linen for shirt ; 

And a slice of bread, with a taste of dirt, — 

That 's poverty's Irish butter ; 
And w^hat does he lack to make him blest ? 
Some oyster-shells, or a sparrow's nest, 

A candle-end and a gutter. 

But, to leave the happy Phelim alone, 
Gnawing, perchance, a marrowless bone, 

For which no dog would quarrel — 
Turn we to little Miss Kilmansegg, 
Cutting her first little toothy-peg 
With a fifty-guinea coral — 
A peg upon which 
About poor and rich 
Reflection might hang a moral. 

Born in wealth, and wealthily nursed. 

Capped, papped, napped, and lapped from the firts 

On the knees of Prodigality, 
Her childhood was one eternal round 
Of the game of going on Tickler's ground 

Picking up gold — in reality. 

With extempore carts she never played. 
Or the odds and ends of a Tinker's trade, 
Or little dirt pies and puddings made. 

Like children happy and squalid ; 
The very puppet she had to pet, 
Like a bait for the '• Nix my Dolly " set, 

Was a dolly of gold — and solid I 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG, 245 

Gold ! and gold ! 't was the burden still ! 
To gain the heiress's early good will 

There was much corruption and bribery ; 
Tlia yearly cost of her golden toys 
Would have given half London's charity-boys 
And charity-girls the annual joys 

Of a holiday dinner at Highbury. 

Bon-bons she ate from the gilt cornet ; 
And gilded queens on St. Bartlemy's day , 

Till her fancy was tinged by her presents — 
And first a goldfinch excited her wish, 
Then a spherical bowl with its golden fish, 

And then two golden pheasants. 

Nay, once she squalled and screamed like wild — 
And it shows how the bias we give to a child 

Is a thing most weighty and solemn : — 
But whence was wonder or blame to spring 
K little Miss IC. — after such a swing ^^ 
Made a dust for the flaming gilded thing 

On the top of the Fish-sfi'eet column 7 

5G9cr Hnucation. 

According to metaphysical creed, 

To the earliest books that children read 

For much good or much bad they are debtors — 
But before with their ABC they start, 
There are things in morals, as well as art, 
That play a very important part — 

'' Impressions before the letters." 

Dame Education begins the pile, 
Mayhap in the graceful Corinthian style, 
But alas for the elevation ! 



246 MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

If tlie lady's maid or Gossip the nurse 
With a load of rubbish, or something worse, 
Have made a rotten foundation. 

Even thus with little Miss Kilmansegg, 
Before she learnt her E for egg, 

Ere her governess came, or her masters — 
Teachers of quite a different kind 
Had *' crammed" her beforehand, and put her mind 

In a go-cart on golden castors. 

Long before her A B and C, 

They had taught her by heart her L. S. D., 

And as how she was born a great heiress ; 
And as sure as London is built of bricks, 
My lord would ask her the day to j&x 
To ride in a fine gilt coach and six, 

Like Her Worship the Lady Mayoress. 

Instead of stories from Edgeworth's page, 
The true golden lore for our golden age. 

Or lessons from Barbauld and Trimmer, 
Teaching the worth of virtue and health. 
All that she knew was the virtue of wealth, 
Provided by vulgar nursery stealth 

With a book of leaf-gold for a primer. 

The very metal of merit they told. 

And praised her for being as '^ good as gold !" 

Till she grew as a peacock haughty ; 
- Of money they talked the whole day round, 
And weighed desert like grapes by the pound. 
Till she had an idea from the very sound 

That people with naught were naughty. M 

They praised — poor children with nothing at all ! 
Lord ! how you twaddle and waddle and squall, 
Like common -bred geese and ganders ! 



II 



MISS KILMANSEGG AX1» HER PRECIOUS LEG. 247 

What sad little bad little figures you make 
To the rich Miss K., whose plainest seed-cake 
Was stuffed with corianders ! 

They praised her falls, as well as her walk, 

Flatterers make cream cheese of chalk, 

They praised — how they praised — her very small talk 

As if it fell from a Solon ! 
Or the girl who at each pretty phrase let drop 
A ruby comma, or pearl full-stop, 

Or an emerald semi-colon. 

They praised her spirit, and now and then 
The nurse brought her own little " nevy " Ben, 

To play with the future mayoress ; 
And when he got raps, and taps, and slaps, 
Scratches and pinches, snips and snaps, 

As if from a tigress, or bearess, 
They told him how lords would court that hand 
And ahvays gave him to understand. 
While he rubbed, poor soul. 
His carrotty poll, 

That his hair had been pulled by " a hair ess. 

Such were the lessons from maid and nurse, 
A governess helped to make still worse. 
Giving an appetite so perverse 

Fresh diet whereon to batten — 
Beginning with A B C to hold 
Like a royal playbill printed in gold 

On a square of pearl-white satin. 

The books to teach the verbs and nouns, 
And those about countries, cities and towns. 
Instead of their sober drabs and browns, 

Were in crimson silk, with gilt edges ; — 
Her Butler, and Enfield, and Entick — in short. 



2i8 MISS KILMANSEQG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

* 

Her "early lessons" of every sort, 

Looked like souvenirs, keepsakes, and pledges. 

Old Johnson shone out in as fine array 

As he did one night when he went to the play ; 

Chambaud like a beau of King Charles's day — 

Lindley Murray in like conditions ; 
Each weary, unwelcome, irksome task, 
Appeared in a fancy dress and a mask — 
If you wish for similar copies, ask 

For Howell and James's editions. 

Novels she read to amuse her mind, 

But always the alSluent match-making kind, 

That ends with Promessi Sposi, 
And a father-in-law so wealthy and grand, 
He could give check-mate to Coutts in the Strand 

So, along with a ring and posy. 
He endows the bride with Golconda oflf-hand, 

And gives the groom Potosi. 

Plays she perused — but she liked the best 
Those comedy gentlefolks always possessed 

Of fortunes so truly romantic — 
Of money so ready that right or wrong 
It always is ready to go for a song. 
Throwing it, going it, pitching it strong — 
They ought to have purses as green and long 

As the cucumber called the Gigantic. 

Then Eastern tales she loved for the sake 
Of the purse of Oriental make. 

And the thousand pieces they put in it : 
But pastoral scenes on her heart fell cold, 
For Nature with lier had lost its hold. 
No field but the Field of the Cloth of Gold 

Would ever have caught her foot in it. 



MISS KILMANSEGG AXD IIER PRECIOUS LEG. 249 

What more ? She learnt to sing and dance, 
To sit on a horse, although he should prance, 
And to speak a French not spoken in France 

Any more than at Babel's building ; 
And she painted shells, and flowers, and Turks, 
But her great delight Avas in fancy works 

That are done with gold or gilding. 

Gold ! still gold ! — the bright and the dead, 
With golden beads, and gold lace, and gold thread, 
She Avorked in gold, as if for her bread ; 

The metal had so undermined her, 
Gold ran in her thoughts and filled her brain, 
She was golden-headed as Peter's cane 

With which he walked behind her. 

%]tx ^ccitient. 
The horse that carried Miss Kilmansegg, 
And a better never lifted leg, 

Was a very rich bay. called Banker ; 
A horse of a breed and a metal so rare, — 
By Bullion out of an Ingot mare, — 
That for action, the best of figures, and air, 

It made many good judges hanker. 

And when she took a ride in the park, 
Equestrian lord, or pedestrian clerk. 

Was thrown in an amorous fever. 
To see the heiress how well she sat. 
With her groom behind her, Bob or Nat, 
In green, half smothered with gold, and a hat 

With more gold lace than beaver. 

And then when Banker obtained a pat, 
To see how he arched his neck at that I 
He snorted with pride and pleasure ! 
Like the steed in the fable so lofty and grand, 



250 JmiSS KILMANSEGG ATS^D HEK PRECIOUS LEG. 

Who gave the poor ass to understand 
That lie did n't carry a bag of sand, 
But a burden of golden treasure. 

A load of treasure 7 — alas ! alas ! 

Had her horse but been fed upon English grass, 

And sheltered in Yorkshire spinneys, 
Had he scoured the sand with the desert ass, 

Or where the American whinnies — 
But a hunter froi^i Erin's turf and gorse, 
A regular thorough-bred Irish horse, 
Why, he ran away, as a matter of course. 

With a girl worth her weight in guineas ! 

!Mayhap 't is the trick of such pampered nags 
To shy at the sight of a beggar in rags. 

But away, like the bolt of a rabbit. 
Away went the horse in the madness of fright, 
' And away went the horsewoman mocking the sight 
Was yonder blue flash a flash of blue light, 

Or only the skirt of her habit ? 

Away she flies, w^ith the groom behind, — 
It looks like a race of the Calmuck kind. 

When Hymen himself is the starter : 
And the maid rides first in the four-footed strife, 
Riding, striding, as if for her life. 
While the lover rides after to catch him a wife^ 

Although it 's catching a Tartar. 

But the groom has lost his glittering hat ! 
Though he does not sigh and pull up for that — 
Alas ! his horse is a tit for tat 

To sell to a very low bidder — 
Ilis wind is ruined, his shoulder is sprung ; 
Things, though a horse be handsome and young, 

A purchaser will consider. 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 25:1 



But still flies the heiress through stones and dust ; 
Oj for a fall, if fall she must, 

On the gentle lap of Flora ! 
But still, thank Heaven ! she clings to her seat — 
Away ! away ! she could ride a d«ad heat 
"With the dead who ride so fast and fleet 

In the ballad of Leonora ! 

Away she gallops ! — it 's awful work ! 
It 's faster than Turpin's ride to York, 

On Bess, that notable clipper ! 
She has circled^ the ring ! — she crosses the park ! 
Mazeppa, although he was stripped so stark, ^ 

Mazeppa could n"t outstrip her ! 

The fields seem running away with the folks ! 
The elms are having a race for the oaks, 

At a pace that all jockeys disparages ! 
All, all is racing ! the Serpentine 
Seems rushing past like the " arrowy Rhine,'* 
The houses have got on a railway line, 

And are ofl" like the first-class carriages ! 

She '11 lose her life ! she is losing her breath ! 
A cruel chase, she is chasing Death, 

As female shriekings forewarn her : 
And now — as gratis as blood of Guelph — 
She clears that gate, which has cleared itself 

Since then, at Hyde Park Corner ! 

Alas ! for the hope of the Kilmanseggs ! 
"For her head, her brains, her body, and legs, 
Her life 's not worth a copper ! 
W]lly-nilly, 
In Piccadilly, 
A hundred hearts turn sick and chilly, 
A hundred voices cry, " Stop her ! " 



252 MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

And one old gentleman stares and stands, 
Shakes his head and lifts his hands, 
And says, " How very improper ! " 

On and on ! — what a perilous run ! 
The iron rails seem all mingling in one, 

To shut out the Green Park scenery ! 
And now the cellar its dangers reveals. 
She shudders — she shrieks — she's doomed, she feels, 
To be torn by powers of horses and wheels, 

Like a spinner by steam machinery ! 

Sick with horror she shuts her eyes, 
But the very stones seem uttering cries. 

As they did to that Persian daughter. 
When she climbed up the steep vociferous hill, 
Her little silver flag-on to fill 

With the magical golden water ! 

'' Batter her ! shatter her ! 

Throw and scatter her ! ' ' 
Shouts each stony-hearted chatterer. 

'- Dash at the heavy Dover ! 
Spill her ! kill her ! tear and tatter her ! 
Smash her ! crash her ! " (the stones did n't flatter her !) 
" Kick her brains out ! let her blood spatter her ! 

Roll on her over and over ! " 

For so she gathered the awful sense 

Of the street in its past unmacadamized tense, 

As the wild horse overran it, — 
His four heels making the clatter of six. 
Like a devil's tattoo, played with iron sticks 

On a kettle-drum of granite ! 

On ! still on ! she 's dazzled with hints 
Of oranges, ribbons, and colored prints, 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 253 

A kaleidoscope jumble of shapes and tints, 

And human faces all flashing, 
Bright and brief as the sparks from the flints 

That the desperate hoof keeps dashing ! 

On and on ! still frightfully fost ! 

Dover-street, Bond-street, all are past ! 

gut — yes — no — yes ! — they *re down at last ! 

The Furies and Fates have found them ! 
Down they go with a sparkle and crash, 
Like a bark that 's struck by the lightning flash — 

There 's a shriek — and a sob — 

And the dense dark mob 
Like a billow closes around them ! 
«* * * ^ * * 

^ :^ * * * * 

''She breathes!" 
"She don't!" 
''She 41 recover!" 
" She won't ! " 
" She 's stirring ! she 's livmg, by Nemesis ! '' 
Gold, still gold ! on counter and shelf ! 
Golden dishes as plenty as delf ! 
Miss Kilmansegg 's coming again to herself 
On an opulent goldsmith's premises ! 

Gold ! fine gold ! — both yellow and red, 
Beaten, and molten — polished, and dead — 
To see the gold with profusion spread 

In all forms of its manufacture I 
But what avails gold to j\Iiss Kilmansegg, 
Vnien the femoral bone of her dexter leg 

Has met with a compound fracture 1 



254 MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEQ-. 

Gold may soothe Adversity's smart ; 
Nay, help to bind up a broken heart ; 
But to try it on any other part 

Were as certain a disappointment, 
As if one should rub the dish and plate, 
Taken out of a Staffordshire crate — 
In the hope of a golden service of state — 

With Singleton's "Golden Ointment." 

%lcv precious 3Lzq. 

*' As the twig is bent, the tree 's inclinedj" 
Is an adage often recalled to mind, 

Referrino; to iuvenile bias : 
And never so well is the verity seen. 
As when to the weak, warped side we lean, 

While life's tempests and hurricanes try \iii. 

Even thus with Miss K. and her broken limb, 
By a very, very remarlcable whim, 

She showed her early tuition : 
While tho buds of character came into blow 
With a certain tinge that served to show 
The nursery culture long ago. 

As the graft is known by fruition ! 

For the king's physician, who nursed the case, 
His verdict gave with an awful face. 

And three others concurred to egor it ; 
That the patient, to give old Death the slip, 
Like the Pope, instead of a personal trip, 

Must send her leo; as a leo;atc. 

The limb was doomed, — it could n't be saved, - 
And like other people the patient behaved, 
Nay, bravely that cruel parting braved, 



MI&S KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 255 ' 

Which makes some persons so falter, 
They rather would part, without a groan, 
With the flesh of their flesh, and bone of their bone, 

The J obtained at St. George's altar. 

But when it came to fitting the stump 
With a proxy limb — then flatly and plump 

She spoke, in the spirit olden ; 
She couldn't — she shouldn't — she wouldn't — nave wood 
Nor a leg of cork, if she never stood. 
And she swore an oath, or something as good, 

The proxy limb should be golden ! 

A wooden leg ! what, a sort of peg, 

For your common Jockeys and Jennies ! 
No, no, her mother might worry and plague — 
Weep, go down on her knees, and beg, 
But nothing would move Miss Kilmansegg ! 
She could — she would have a Golden Leg, 

If it cost ten thousand guineas ! 

Wood indeed, in forest or park, 

With its sylvan honors and feudal bark, 

Is an aristocratical article : 
But split and saAvn, and hacked about town. 
Serving all needs of pauper or clown. 
Trod on ! stas^o-ered on ! Wood cut down 

Is vulgar — fibre and particle ! 

Vnd cork ! — when the noble cork-tree shades 
I lovely group of Castilian maids, 

'T is a thing for a song or sonnet ! — 
; lut cork, as it stops the bottle of gin, 
Or bungs the beer — the small beer — iu, 
It pierced her heart like a corking -pin, 
T? think of standing upon it ! 



256 MISS KILMANSEaa AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

A leg of gold — solid gold throughout, 
Nothing else, whether slim or stout, 

Should ever support her, God willing ! 
She must — she could — she would have her whim 
Her father, she turned a deaf ear to him — 

He mio;ht kill her — she didn't mind killina: ! 
He was welcome to cut off her other limb — 

He might cut her all off with a shilling ! 

All other promised gifts were in vain. 

Golden girdle, or golden chain. 

She writhed with impatience more than pain, 

And uttered '• pshaws ! " and " pishes ! ** 
But a leg of gold ! as she laj in bed, 
It danced before her — it ran in her head ! 

It jumped with her dearest wishes ! 

<' Gold — gold — gold ! 0, let it be gold ! '^ 
Asleep or awake that tale she told. 

And when she grew delirious : 
Till her parents resolved to grant her wish, 
If the J melted down plate, and goblet, and dish, 

The case was getting so serious. 

* So a leg was made in a comely mould. 
Of gold, fine virgin glittering gold. 

As solid as man could make it — 
Solid in foot, and calf, and shank, 
A prodigious sum of money it sank ; 
In fact, 't was a branch of the family bank. 

And no easy matter to break it. 

All sterling metal, — not half-and-half, 

Tho goldsmith's mark was stamped on the caJf,-" 

'T was pure as from Mexican barter ! 
And to make it more costly, just over the knee, 
Where another ligature used to be, 



MISS KILMANSEGG AXD HER PRECIOUS LEG- 257 

Was a circle of jewels, worth shillings to see, 
A new-fangled badge of the garter ! 

'T was a splendid, brilliant, beautiful leg, 
Fit for the court of Scandcr-Beg, 
That precious leg of Miss Kilmansegg ! 

For, thanks to parental 1)ounty, 
Secure from mortification's touch, 
She stood on a member that cost as much 

As a Member for all the County ! 

J^zx ifame. 

To gratify stern Ambition's whims, 

What hundreds and thousands of precious limbs 

On a field of battle we scatter ! 
Severed by sword, or bullet, or saw, 
Off they go, all bleeding and raw, — 
But the public seems to get the lock-jaw, 

So little is said on the matter ! 

Legs, the tightest that ever were seen, 

The tightest, the lightest, that danced on the green, 

Cutting capers to sweet Kitty Clover ; 
Shattered, scattered, cut, and bowled down, 
Off they go. worse oft" for renown, 
A line in the Times, or a talk about town, 

Than the leg that a fly runs over ! 

But the precious Leg of Miss Kilmansegg, 
That gowden, goolden, golden leg. 

Was the theme of all conversation ! 
Had it been a pillar of church and state. 
Or a prop to support the whole dead weight. 
It could not have furnished more debate 

To the heads and tails of the nation ! 
17 



258 MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

East and west, and north and south, 

Though useless for either hunger or drouth, — 

The Leg was in everybody's mouth, 

To use a poetical figure ; 
Rumor, in taking her ravenous swim, 
Saw, and seized on the tempting limb, 

Like a shark on the leo; of a nio;<2;er. 

Wilful murder fell very dead ; 

Debates in the House were hardly read ; 

Jxi vain the police reports were fed 

With L^ish riots and rmmpiises — 
The Leg ! the Leg ! was the great event ; 
Through every circle in life it went, 

Like the leg of a pair of compasses. 

The last new novel seemed tame and flat ; 
The Leg, a novelty newer than that, 

Had tripped up the heels of fiction ' 
It Burked the very essays of Burke, 
*And, alas ! how wealth over wit plays the Turk ! 
As a regular piece of goldsmith's work, 
Got the better of Goldsmith's diction. 

" A leg of gold ! what, of solid gold 7 " 
Cried rich and poor, and young and old, 

And Master and Miss and Madam ; 
'T was the talk of 'change — the alley — the banii 
And with men of scientific rank 
It made as much stir as the fossil shank 

Of a lizard coeval with Adam ! 

Of course with Greenwich and Chelsea elves, 
Men who had lost a limb themselves, 

Its interest did not dwindle ; 
But Bill and Ben, and Jack, and Tom, 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEO. ^'i^ 

Could hardly have spun more yarns therefrom, 
If the leg had been a spindle. 

Meanwhile the story went to and fro, 
Till, gathering like the ball of snow, 
By the time it got to Stratford-le-Bow, 

Throuo'h exao-greration's touches, 
The heiress and hope of the Kilmanseggs 
Was propped on tiro fine golden legs, 

And a pair of golden crutches ! 

Never had leg so great a run ! 

'T was the " go " and the " kick " thrown into one! 

The mode — the new thing under the sun ! 

The rage — the fancy — the passion ! 
Bonnets were named, and hats were worn, 
A la golden leg instead of Leghorn, 
And stockings and shoes 
Of golden hues 
Took the lead in the walks of fashion ! 

The Golden Leg had a vast career. 

It was sung and danced — and to show how near 

Low folly to lofty approaches. 
Down to society's very dregs, 
The belles of Wapping wore "Kilmanseggs,"' 
And St. Giles's beaux sported golden legs 

In their pinchbeck pins and brooches ! 

Supposing the trunk and limbs of man 
Shared, on the allegorical plan, 

By the passions that mark humanity, 
Whichever might claim the head, or heart. 
The stomach, or any other part, 

The le;2;s would be seized by Vanity. 



260 MISS KILMANSEGG AND TIER PRECIOUS LEG. 

There 'a Barclus, a six-foot column of fop, 
A lighthouse without any light atop, 

Whose height Avould attract hehoiders, 
Tf he had not lost some inches clear 
Bjr looking down at his kerseymere, 
Oi!!;lino; the limbs he holds so dear, 

Till he got a stoop in his shoulders. 

Talk of art, of science, or books, 
And down go the everlasting looks. 

To his crural beauties so wedded ! 
~ Cry him, whenever you will, you find 

His mind in his lesrs, and his leo:s in his mind. 
All prongs and folly — in short, a kind 

Of fork — that is fiddle-headed. 

What wonder, then, if Miss Kilmansegg, 
With a splendid, brilliant, beautiful Leg, 
Fit for the court of Scander-Beg, 
Disdained to hide it, like Joan or Meoj, 

In petticoats stuffed or quilted ? 
Not she ! 't was her convalescent whim 
To dazzle the world with her precious limb, 

Nay, to go a little high-kilted. 

So cards were sent for that sort of mob 
Where Tartars and Africans hob-and-nob, 
And the Cherokee talks of his cab and cob 

To Polish or Lapland lovers — 
Cards like that hieroglyphical call 
To a geographical Fancy Ball 

On the recent post-ofiice covers. 

For if lion-hunters — and great ones too — 

Would mob a savage from Latakoo, 

Or squeeze for a glimpse of Prince Le Boo, 



MISS KILMAXSEOG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 261 

That unfoi'tunate Sandwich scion — 
Hundreds of first-rate people, no doubt, 
Would gladly, madly, rush to a rout, 

That promised a Golden Lion ! 

%}(v Saiicu 3Ball. 

Of all the spirits of evil fame 

That hurt the soul or injure the frame, 

And poison what 's honest and hearty, 
There 's none more needs a Mathew to preach 
A cooling, antiphlogistic speech. 
To praise and enforce 
A temperate course, 
Than the Evil Spirit of Party. 

Go to the House of Commons, or Lords, 
And they seem to be busy with simple words 

In their popular sense or pedantic — 
But, alas ! with their cheers, and sneers, and jeers, 
They 're really busy, whatever appears. 
Putting peas in each other's ears, 

To drive their enemies frantic ! 

Thus Tories- love to worry the Whigs, 

^Vho treat them in turn like Sclnvalbach pigs, 

Giving them lashes, thrashes, and digs. 

With their writhing and pain delighted — 
But after all that 's said, and more. 
The malice and spite of Party are poor 
To the malice and spite of a party next door, 

To a party not invited. 

On with the cap and out with the light. 
Weariness bids the world good-night. 

At least for the u>ual season ; 
But. hark ! a clattoi of horses' heels : 



262 MISS KILMAXSEGG AxNTD HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

And Sleep and Silence are broken on wheels, 
Like Wilful Murder and Treason ! 

Another crash — and the carriage goes — 
Again poor Weariness seeks the repose 

That Nature demands imperious ; 
But Echo takes up the burden now. 
With a rattling chorus of row-de-dow-dow, 
Till Silence herself seems making a row. 

Like a Quaker gone dehrious ! 

'T is nisiht — a winter nidit — and the stars 
Are shining like winkin' — Venus and Mars 
Are rolling along in their golden cars 

Through the sky's serene expansion — 
But vainly the stars dispense their rajs, 
Venus and Mars are lost in the blaze 

Of the Kilmansesriis' luminous mansion ! 



"OO" 



Up jumps Fear in a terrible fright ! 
His bed-chamber Avindows look so bright. 

With liglit all the square is glutted ! 
Up he jumps, like a sole from the pan, 
And a tremor sickens his inward man, 
For he feels as only a gentleman can 

Who thinks he 's beino; " o-utted." 

Again Fear settles, all snug and warm ; 
But only to dream of a dreadful storm 

From Autumn's sulphurous locker ; 
But the only electric body that falls 
Wears a negative coat and positive smalls, 
And draws the peal that so appalls 

From the Kilmanseggs' brazen knocker ! 

'T is Curiosity's benefit night — 

And perchance 't is the English second-sight, 



MISS KILMANSSGG AND IIKR PRECIOUS LEG. 203 

But Avhatever it be, so be it — 
As the friends and guests of Miss Kilmansegg 
Crowd in to look at her Golden Leg, 
As many more 
IMob round the door, 
To see them o-oin;: to see it ! 

In they go — in jackets and cloaks, 
Plumes, and bonnets, turbans, and toques, 

As if to a Congress of Nations : 
Greeks and jNIalays, with daggers and dirks, 
Spaniards, Jews, Chinese, and Turks — 
Some like original foreign works. 

But mostly like bad translations. 

In they go, and to work like a pack, 

Juan, Moses, and Shachabac, 

Tom, and Jerry, and Springheeled Jack, 

For some of low Fancy are lovers — 
Skirting, zigzagging, casting about, 
Here and there, and in and out, 
With a crush, and a rush, for a full-bodied rout 

In one of the stiifest of covers. 

In they went, and hunted about. 
Open-mouthed like chub and trout. 
And some with the upper lip thrust out, 

Like that fisli for routing, a barbel — 
While Sir Jacob stood to welcome the crowd, 
And rubbed his hands, and smiled aloud. 
And bowed, and bowed, and bowed, and bowed 

Like a man who is sawing marble. 

For princes were there, and noble peers ; 
Dukes descended from Norman spears ; 
Earls that dated from early years 



264 MISS KILMAI5SEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LE^. 

And lords in vast variety — 
Besides the gentry both new and old — 
For people who stand on legs of gold 

Are sure to stand well with society. 

'' But where — where — where 7 " with one accord 
Cried Moses and Mufti. Jack and my Lord, 

Wans-Fono; and II Bondocani — 
When slow, and heavy, and dead as a dump, 
They heard a foot begin to stump, 
Thump ! lump ! 
Lump ! thump ! 
Like the spectre in " Don Giovanni ! " 

And, lo ! the heiress, Miss Kilmansegg, 
With her splendid, brilliant, beautiful leg, 

In the garb of a goddess olden — 
Like chaste Diana going to hunt. 
With a golden spear — which of course was blunt, 
And a tunic looped up to a gem in front, 

To show the Leg that was Golden ! 

Gold ! still gold ! her Crescent behold. 
That should be silver, but would be gold ; 

And her robe's auriferous spangles ! 
Her golden stomacher — how she would melt ! 
Her golden quiver and golden belt. 

Where a golden bugle dangles ! 

And her jewelled garter '] 0, sin ! 0, shame ! 
Let Pride and Vanity bear the blame, 
That bring;s such blots on female fame ! 

But to be a true recorder. 
Besides its thin transparent stuff, 
The tunic was looped quite higli enough 

To give a glimose of the Order ! 



MISS KILMANSEGG AXD HER PRECIOUS LEG. 26o , 

But what have sin or shame to do 

With a Golden Leg — and a stout one, too 7 

Awaj with all Prudery's panics ! 
That the precious metal, bv thick and thin, 
Will cover square acres of land or sin. 
Is a fact made plain 
Again, and agam. 
In morals as well as mechanics. 

A few, indeed, of her proper sex, 

Who seemed to feel her foot on their necks, 

And feared their charms would meet with checks 

From so rare and spiendid a blazon — 
A few cried " fie ! " — and ' ' forward ' ' — and ' ' bold ! " 
And said of the Leg it might.be gold, 

But to them it looked like brazen ! 

'T was hard, they hinted, for flesh and blood, 
Virtue, and beauty, and all that 's good, 

To strike to mere dross their topgallants — 
But what were beauty, or virtue, or worth, 
Gentle manners, or gentle birth. 
Nay, what the most talented head on earth 

To a Leg worth fifty Talents ! 

But the men sang quite another hymn 

Of glory and praise to the precious limb — 

Age, sordid age, admired the whim, 

And its indecorum pardoned — 
While half of the young — ay, more than half — 
Bowed down and worshipped the Golden Calf, 

Like the Jews when their hearts were hardened. 

A Golden Leg ! what fancies it fired ! 
What golden wishes and hopes inspired ! 
To give but a mere abi'idgment — 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND JIEU PRECIOUS LEQ. 

What a les: to ]c2;-l)ail Embarrassment's serf ! 
What a leg for a leg to take on the turf ! 
What a leg for a marching regiment ! 

A Golden Leg ! — whatever Love sings, 

'T was worth a bushel of " plain gold rings/' 

With which the romantic Avheedles. 
'T was w^orth all the le^rs in stockino;s and socks — 
'T was a leg that might be put in the stocks, 

N. B. — Not the parish beadle's ! 

And Lady K. nid-nodded her head, 
Lapped in a turban fancy-bred, 
Just like a love-apple, huge and red, 
Some Mussul- womanish mystery ; 
But whatever she meant 
To represent, 
She talked like the Muse of History. 

She told how the filial leo; was lost ; 
And then how much the gold one cost ; 

With its weight to a Trojan fraction : 
And how it took off, and how it put on ; 
And called on Devil, Duke, and Don, 
Mahomet, Moses, and Prester John, 

To notice its beautiful action. 

And then of the Leg she went m quest ; ^ 

And led it where the li^ht was best ; 
And made it lay itself up to rest 

In postures for painters' studies : 
It cost more tricks and trouble, by half, 
Than it takes to exhibit a six-les^ed calf 

To a boothful of country cuddies. 

Nor yet did the heiress herself omit 
The arts that help to make a hit. 



AIISS KILMANSEGG AND IIER PRECIOUS LEG. 267 

And preserve a prominent station. 
She talked and laughed far more than her share; 
And took a part in " Rich and Rare 
Were the Gems she wore " — and the gems were there 

Like a song with an illustration. 

She even stood up with a count of France 
To dance — alas ! the measures we dance 

When Vanity plays the piper ! 
Vanity, Vanity, apt to betray, 
And lead all sorts of legs astray, 
Wood, or metal, or human clay, — 

Since Satan first played the viper ! 

But first she doffed her hunting gear. 

And favored Tom Tug with her golden spear, 

To row with down the river — 
A Bonze had her golden boAV to hold ; 
A Hermit her belt and bugle of gold ; 

And an Abbot her golden quiver. 

And then a space was cleared on the floor. 
And she walked the Minuet de la Cour, 
With all the pomp of a Pompadour ; 

But, althouo;h she beo;an andante. 
Conceive the faces of all the rout, 
When she finished off Avith a whirligig bout, 
And the Precious Leg stuck stiffly out 

Like the leg of ^figurante. ! 

So the courtly dance was goldenly done, 
And golden opinions, of course, it won 

From all different sorts of people — 
Chiming ding-dong, Avith flattering phrase, 
Li one vociferous peal of praise. 
Like the peal that rings on royal days 

From Loyalty's parish steeple. 



20 8 MISS KILMANSEGQ AKD 11 ER PRECIOUS LEG. 

And yet, had the leg been one of those 
That dance for bread in flesh-colored hose, 

With Rosina's pastoral bevy, 
Q^he jeers it had met, — the shouts ! the scoff! 
The cutting advice to "take itself off." 

For sounding but half so heavy. 

Had it been a leg like those, perchance, 
That teach lit4:le girls and boys to dance. 
To set, poussette, recede, and advance, 

With the steps and figures most proper, — 
Had it hopped for a weekly or quarterly sum, 
How little of praise or grist would have come 

To a mill with such a hopper ! 

But the Leg was none of those limbs forlorn — 
Bartering capers and hops for corn — 
That meet with public hisses and scorn. 

Or the morning journal denounces — 
Had it pleased to caper from morn till dusk, 
There was all the music of " Money Musk" 

In its ponderous bangs and bounces. 

But hark ! — as slow as the strokes of a pump, 
Lump, thump ! 
Thump, lump ! 
As the Giant of Castle Otranto might stump 

To a lower room from an upper — 
Down she goes with a noisy dint. 
For, taking the crimson turban's hint, 
A noble lord at the head of the Mint 
Is leading the Leg to supper ! 

But the supper, alas ! must rest untold. 
With its blaze of light and its glitter of gold, 
For to paint that scene of glamour, 



MISS KILMANSEGG AXD HER PRECIOUS LEG. 269 

It would need the great Enchanter's charm, 
Who waves over palace, and cot, and farm, 
An arm like the goldbeater's golden arm 
That wields a golden hammer. 

He — only He — could fitly state 

The Massive Service of Golden Plate, 

With the proper phrase and expansion — 
The Rare Selection of Foreign Wixes — 
The Alps of Ice and Mountains of Pines, 
The punch in Oceans and sugary shrines, 
The Temple of Taste from Gunter's Designs — 
In short, all that Wealth with a Feast combines, 

In a Splendid Family Mansion. 

Suffice it each masked outlandish guest 
Ate and drank of the very best. 

According; to critical cornier s — 
^Vnd then they pledged the hostess and host. 
But the Golden Leg ^\as the standing toast. 
And, as somebody swore, 
Walked off wdth more 
Than its share of the " hips ! " and honors ! 

'' Miss Kilmanseo;^; ! — 
Full o'lasses I beo- ! — 
Miss Kilmanseojc!: and her Precious Leo; ! " 

And away went the bottle careering ! 
Wine in bumpers ! and shouts in peals ! 
Till the Clown did n't know his head from his heels, 
The Mussulman's eyes danced two-some reels, 
And the Quaker Avas hoarse with cheering ! 

Jl^ev Dicain. 
Miss Kilmansegg took off her Leg, 
And laid it down like a cribbage-peg. 



270 MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

For the rout was done and the riot : 
The square was hushed ; not a sound was heard 
The sky was gray, and no creature stirred, 
Except one little precocious bird, 

That chirped — and then was quiet. 

So still without, — so still within ; — 
It had been a sin 
To drop a pin — 
So intense is silence after a din, 

It seemed like Death's rehearsal ! 
To stir the air no eddy came ; 
And the taper burnt with as still a flame, 
As to flicker had been a burning shame, 
In a calm so universal. 

The time for sleep had come, at last ; 
And there Avas the bed, so soft, so vast. 

Quite a field of Bedfordshire clover ; 
Softer, cooler, and calmer, no doubt, 
From the piece of work just ravelled out, 
For one of the pleasures of having a rout 

Is the pleasure of having it over. 

No sordid pallet, or truckle mean, 

Of straw, and rug, and tatters unclean ; 

But a splendid, gilded, carved machine, 

That was fit for a royal chamber. 
On the top was a gorgeous golden wreath; 
And the damask curtains hung beneath, 

Like clouds of crimson and amber. 

Curtains, held up by two little plump things, 
With golden bodies and golden wings, — 
Mere fins for such solidities — 



MISS KILMAN3EGG AXD HKR PRECIOUS LEG. 271 

Two Cupids, in short, 
Of the regular sort, 
But the housemaid called them ' Cupidities. ' 

No patchwork quilt, all seams and scars, 
But velvet, powdered with golden stars, 

A fit mantle for A^i^-A^-commanders ' 
And the pillow, as white as snow undimmed, 
And as cool as the pool that the breeze has skimmed. 
Was cased in the finest cambric, and trimmed 

With the costliest lace of Flanders. 

And the bed — of the eider's softest down, 
'T w^as a place to revel, to smother, to drown 

In a bliss inferred by the poet ; 
For if ignorance be indeed a bliss. 
What blessed ignorance equals this, 

To sleep — and not to know it 7 

0, bed ! 0, bed ! delicious bed ! 

That heaven upon earth to the weary head ; 

But a place that to name would be ill-bred, 

To the head with a wakeful trouble — 
'T is held by such a different lease ! 
To one, a place of comfort and peace, 
All stuffed witli the down of stubble geese, 

To another with only the stubble ! 

To one a perfect halcyon nest, 

All calm, and balm, and quiet, and rest, 

And soft as the fur of the cony — 
To another, so restless for body and head, 
That the becl seems borrowed from Nettlebed, 

And the pillow from Stratford the Stony ! 

To the happy, a first-class carriage of ease, 
To tlie Land of Nod, or wliere you please ; 



272 MISS KILMAXSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

But alas ! for the watchers and weepers, 
Who turn, and turn, and turn again, 
But turn, and turn, and turn in vain, 
With an anxious brain, 
And thoughts in a train 
That does not run upon sleepers ! 

Wide awake as the mousing owl, 
Night-hawk, or other nocturnal fowl, — 

But more profitless vigils keeping, — 
Wide awake in the dark they stare, 
Pilling with phantoms the vacant air. 
As if that crook-backed tyrant Care 

Had plotted to kill them sleeping. 

And ! when the blessed diurnal light 
Is quenched by the providential night, 

To render our slumber more certain, 
Pity, pity the wretches that weep, 
For they must be wretched who cannot sleep 

When God himself draws the curtain ! 

The careful Betty the pillow beats, 

And airs the blankets, and smooths the sheets, 

And gives the mattress a shaking — 
But vainly Betty performs her part. 
If a ruffled head and a rumpled heart 

As well as the couch want making. 

There 's Morbid, all bile, and verjuice, and nerves, 
Where other people would make preserves, 

He turns his fruits into pickles : 
Jealous, envious, and fretful by day, 
At night, to his own sharp fancies a prey, 
He lies like a hedgehog rolled up the wrong way. 

Tormenting himself with his prickles. 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 273 

But a child — that bids the world o;ood-niofht. 
In downright earnest, and cuts it quite — 

A cherub no art can copy, — 
'T is a perfect picture to see him lie 
As if he had supped on dormouse pie. 
(An ancient classical dish, by the by) 

With sauce of syrup of poppy. 

0, bed ! bed ! bed ! delicious bed ! 

That heaven upon earth to the weary head. 

Whether lofty or low its condition ! 
But, instead of putting our plagues on shelves, 
In our blankets how often we toss ourselves, 
Or are tossed by such allegorical elves 

As Pride, Hate, Greed, and Ambition ! 

The independent Miss Kilmansegg 
Took off her independent Leg 

And laid it beneath her pillow, 
And then on the bed her frame she cast ; 
The time for repose had come at last, 
But long, long after the storm is past 

Rolls the turbid, turbulent billow. 

No part she had in vulgar cares 

That belong to common household affairs — 

Nocturnal annoyances such as theirs 

Who lie with a shrewd surmising 
Tliat Avhile they are couchant (a bitter cup !) 
Their bread and butter are getting up, 

And the coals — confound them ! — are rising. 

No fear she had her sleep to postpone, 
Like the crippled widow who weeps alone. 
And cannot make a doze her ovai, 

For the dread that mayhap on the morrow, 

18 



274 MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

The true and Christian reading to balk, 
A broker will take up her bed and walk, 
'By way of curing her sorrow. 

No cause like these she had to bewail : 

But the breath of applause had blo^vn a gale, 

And winds from that quarter seldom fail 

To cause some human commotion ; 
But whenever such breezes coincide 
With the very spring-tide 
Of human pride. 
There 's no such sweli on the ocean ! 

Peace, and ease, and slumber lost. 

She turned, and rolled, and tumbled, and tossed, 

With a tumult that would not settle : 
A common case, indeed, with such 
As have too little, or think too much, 

Of the precious and glittering metal." 

Gold ! — she saw at her golden foot 
The peer whose tree had an olden root. 
The proud, the great, the learned to boot, 

The handsome, the gay, and the witty — 
The man of science — of arms — of art. 
The man w^ho deals but at Pleasure's mart, 

And the man who deals in the city. 

Gold, still gold — and true to the mould ! 
In the very scheme of her dream it told ; 

For, by magical transmutation, 
From her Leg through her body it seemed to go, 
Till, gold above, and gold below. 
She was gold, all gold, from her little gold toe 

To her organ of Veneration ! 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER rRECTOUS LEG, 276 

And still she retained, through Fancy's art, 
The golden bow. and the golden dart. 
With which she had played a goddess's part 

In her recent glorification. 
And still, like one of the self-same brood, 
On a plinth of the self-same metal she stood 

For the whole world's adoration. 

And hymns of incense around her rolled. 
From golden harps and censers of gold, — 
For Fancy in dreams is as uncontrolled 

As a horse without a bridle : 
What wonder, then, from all checks exempt. 
If, inspired by the Golden Leg. she dreamt 

She was turned to a golden idol ? 

JL},(V douitstjij). 

When, leaving Eden's happy land. 
The grieving angel led by the hand 

Our banished fither and mother. 
Forgotten, amid their awful doom. 
The tears, the fears, and the future's gloom 
On each brow was a T\Teath of Paradise blottii, 

That our parents had twined for each other. 

It was only while sitting like figures of stone. 
For the grieving angel had skyward flown, 
As they sat, those two, in the world alone, 

With disconsolate hearts nigh cloven, 
That, scenting the gust of happier hours. 
They looked around for the precious flowers, 
And, lo ! — a last relic of Eden's dear bowers — 

The chaplet that Love had woven ! 

And still, when a pair of lovers meet, 
There 's a sweetness in air, unearthly sweet, 



276 MISS KILMANSEGG AND UER PRECIOUS LEG. 

That savors still of that happy retreat 
Where Eve by Adam was courted : 
Whilst the joyous thrush, and the gentle dove, 
Wooed their mates in the boughs above, 
And the serpent, as yet, only sported. 

Who hath not felt that breath in the air, 

A perfume and freshness strange and rare, 

A warmth in the light, and a bliss everywhere, 

When young hearts yearn together 1 
All sweets below, and all sunny above, 
! there 's nothing in life like making love, 

Save making hay in fine weather ! 

Who hath not found amongst his flowers 
A blossom too bright for this world of ours, 

Like a rose among snows of Sweden 1 
But, to turn again to Miss Kilmansegg, 
Where must Love have gone to beg, 
If such a thing as a Golden Leg 

Had put its foot in Eden ? 

And yet — to tell the rigid truth — 

Her favor was sought by age and youth — 

For tlie prey will find a prowler ! 
She was followed, flattered, courted, addressed, 
Wooed, and cooed, .md wheedled, and pressed. 
By suitors from North, South, East, and West; 

Like that heiress, in song, Tibbie Fowler ! 

But, alas ! alas ! for the woman's fate, 
Who has from a mob to choose a mate ! 

'T is a strange and painful mystery ! 
But the more the eggs, the worse the hatch ; 
The more the fish, the worse the catch ; 
The more the sparks, the worse the match ; 

Is a. fact in -woman's history. 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEQ. 277 

Give her between a brace to pick, 

And, mayhap, "with hick to lielp the trick. 

She will take the Faustus, and leave the Old IS ick — 

But, her future bliss to baffle, 
Amongst a score let her have a voice, 
And she '11 have as little cause to rejoice 
As if she had won the " man of her choice " 

In a matrimonial raffle ! 

Thus, even thus, with the heiress and hope, 
Fulfilling the adage of too much rope, 

With so ample a competition, 
She chose the least wortli j of all the group, 
Just as the vulture makes a stoop. 
And singles out from the herd or troop 

The beast of the worst condition. 

A* foreign count — who came incog.. 
Not under a cloud, but under a fog, 

In a Calais packet's fore-cabin. 
To charm some lady British-born, 
With his eyes as black as the fruit of the thorn. 
And his hooky nose, and his beard half-shorn, 

Like a half-converted Rab])in. 

And because the sex confess a charm 

In the man who has slashed a head or arm, 

Or has been a thi-oat"s undoing, 
He was dressed like one of the glorious trade, 
At least when gloiy is off parade. 
With a stock, and a frock, well trimmed with braid, 

And froo-s — that went a-wooing. 

Moreover, as counts are apt to do. 

On the left-hand side of his dark surtout. 

At one of those holes that buttons go through, 



278 MISS KILMANSEGQ AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

(To be a precise recorder), 
A ribbon he wore, or rather a SCI-?.]!, 
About an inch of ribbon mayhap, 
That one of his rivals, a whimsical chap, 

Described as his '' Retail Order." 

And then — and much it helped his chance — 
He could sing, and play first fiddle, and dance, 
Perform charades and proverbs of Frar:?3 — 

Act the tender, and do the cruel ; 
For amongst his other killing parts, 
He had broken a brace of female hearts, 

And murdered three men in duel ! 

Savage at heart, and fiilse of tongue, 
Subtle with age, and smooth to the young. 

Like a snake in his coiling and curling — 
Such was the count — to give him a niche — 
Who came to court that heiress rich. 
And knelt at her foot — one need n't say which — 

Besieging her castle of Sterling. 

With prayers and vows he opened his trench, 
And plied her with English, Spanish, and French, 

In phrases the most sentimental ! 
And quoted poems in high and low Dutch, 
With now and then an Italian touch, 
Till she yielded, w^itbout resisting much, 

To homage so continental. 

And then, the sordid bargain to close, 
With a miniature sketch of his hooky ncee, 
And his dear dark eyes, as black as sloes, 
And his beard and whiskers as black as those. 

The lady's consent he requited — 
And instead of the lock that lovers beg, 
The count received from Miss Kilmansecr}» 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 27? 

A model, in small, of her Precious Leg — 
And so the couple were plighted ! 

But, ! the love that gold must crown ! 
Better — better, the love of the clown, 
Who admires his lass in her Sunday gown. 

As if all the fairies had dressed her ! 
Whose brain to no crooked thought jjiives birth, 
Except that he never will part on earth 

With bis true love's crooked tester ! 

Alas ! for the love that 's linked with gold ! 
Better — better a thousand times told — 

More honest, happy, and laudable, 
The dov/nright loving of pretty Cis, 
Who wipes her lips, though there 's nothing amiss, 
And takes a kiss, and gives a kiss, 

In which her heart is audible ! 

Pretty Cis, so smiling and bright. 

Who loves as she labors, Avith all her might, 

And without any sordid leaven ! 
Who blushes as red as haws and hips, 
Down to her very finger-tips. 
For Roger's blue ribbons — to her, like strips 

Cut out of the azure of heaven ! 

'T was morn — a most auspicious one ! 
From the golden East the golden sun 
Came forth his glorious race to run, 

Through clouds of most splendid tinges ; 
Clouds that lately slept in shade, 
But now seemed made 
Of gold brocade. 
With magnificent golden fringes. 



280 MISS KILMANSEGG AXD HER PRECIOUS LSa. 

Gold above, and gold below, 

The earth reflected the golden glow, 

From river, and hill, and valley ; 
Gilt by the golden light of morn. 
The Thames — it looked like the Golden Horn, 
And the barge that carried coal or corn 

Like Cleopatra's galley ! 

Bright as a cluster of golden-rod. 
Suburban poplars began to nod, 

With extempore splendor furnished ; 
While London was bright with glittering clocks 
Golden dragons, and golden cocks, 
And above them all, 
The dome of St. Paul, 
With its golden cross and its golden ball. 
Shone out as if newly burnished ! 

And, lo ! for golden hours and joys, 
Troops of glittering golden boys 
Danced along with a jocund noise, 

And their gilded emblems carried ! 
IxL short, 't was the year's most golden day, 
By mortals called the first of May, 
When Miss Kilmanseo's;, 
Of the Golden Leg, 
With a golden ring w\as married ! 

And thousands of children, women, and men, 
Counted the clock from eio;ht till ten, 

From St. James's sonorous steeple ; 
For, next to that interesting job, 
The hanging of Jack, or Bill, or Bob, 
There 's nothing so draws a London mob 

As the noosing of very rich people. 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND liER PRECIOUS LEO. 281 

And a treat it was for a mob to behold 
The bridal carriage that blazed with gold ! 
And the footmen tall, and thp coachman bold, 

In liveries so resplendent — 
Coats you wondered to see in place, 
They seemed so rich with golden lace, 

That tiiej might have been independent. 

Coats that made those menials proud 
Gaze with scorn on the dingy crowd, 

From their o-ilJed elevations ; 
Not to forget that saucy lad 
(Ostentation's favorite cad). 
The page, who looked, so splendidly clad, 

Like a page of the " Wealth of Nations.' 

But the coachman carried off the state, 
With what was a Lancashire body of late 

Turned into a Dresden Figure ; 
With a bridal nosegay of early bloom, 
About the size of a birchen broom, 
And so liiige a white favor, had Gog been groom, 

He need not have worn a bio!;";er. 

And then to see the "-room ! the count ! 
With foreio-n orders to such an amount, 

And whiskers so wild — nay, bestial ; 
He seemed to have borrowed the shaggy hair 
As well as the stars of the Polar Bear, 

To make him look celestial ! 

And then — Great Jove ! — the struggle, the crush 
The screams, the heaving, the awful rush. 

The swearing, the tearing, and fighting, — 
The hats and bonnets smashed like an eg^^. — 
To catch a glimpse of the Golden Leg, 



282 MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

Which, between the steps and ^liss Kilmansegg, 
Was fully displayed in alighting ! 

From the golden ankle up to the knee 
There it was for the mob to see ! 
A shocking act had it chanced to be 

A crooked leg or a skinny : 
But although a magnificent veil she wore, 
Such as never was seen before, 
In case of blushes, she blushed no more 

Than George the First on a guinea ! 

Another step, and, lo ! she was launched ! 
All in white, as brides are blanched^ 

With a wreath of most wonderful splendor — 
Diamonds, and pearls, so rich in device, 
That, according to calculation nice, 
Her head was worth as royal a price 

As the head of the Young Pretender. 

Bravely she shone — and shone the more 

As she sailed through the crowd of squalid and poor, 

Thief, beggar, and tatterdemalion ■ — 
Led by the count, with his sloe-black eyes 
Bright with triumph, and some surprise, 
Like Anson on making sure of his prize 

The famous Mexican galleon ! 

Anon came Lady K., with her face 
Quite made up to act with grace, 

But she cut the performance shorter 
For instead of pacing stately and stiff, 
At the stare of the vulgar she took a miff, 
And ran. full speed, into church, as if 

To get married before her daughter. 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND UER PRECIOUS LEG. 283 

But Sir Jacob walked more slowly, and bowed 
Right and left to the gaping crowd, 

Wherever a glance was seizable ; 
For Sir Jacob thought he bowed like a Guelph, 
And therefore bowed to imp and elf, 
And would gladly have made a bow to himself, 

Had such a bow been feasible. 

And last — and not the least of the sight, 
Six "Handsome Fortunes," all in white, 
Came to help in the marriage rite, — 

And rehearse their own hymeneals ; 
And then, the bright procession to close, 
They were followed by just as many beaux, 

Quite fine enough for ideals. 

Glittering men, and splendid dames. 

Thus they entered the porch of St. James', 

Pursued by a thunder of laughter ; 
For the beadle was forced to intervene, 
For Jim the Crow, and his Mayday Queen, 
With her gilded ladle, and Jack i' the Green, 

Would fain have followed after ! 

Beadle-like he hushed the shout ; 

But the temple was full " inside and out," 

And a buzz kept buzzing all round about 

Like bees when the day is sunny — 
A buzz universal that interfered 
With the rite that ought to have been revered, 
As if the couple already were smeared 

With Wedlock's treacle and honey ! 

Yet Wedlock 's a very awful thing ! 
'T is something like that feat in the ring 
Which requires good nerve to do it — 



284 MISS KILMANSEGG AND JIER PRECIOUS LEG, 

When one of a " Grand Equestrian Troop" 
Makes a jump at a gilded hoop, 

Not certain at all 

Of what may befall 
After his getting through it ! 

But the count he felt the nervous work 
No more than any polygamous Turk, 

Or bold piratical skipper, 
Who, during his buccaneering search, 
Would as soon engage " a hand " in church 

As a hand on board his clipper ! 

And how did the bride perform her part 7 
Like any bride who is cold at heart. 

Mere snow with the ice's glitter ; 
What but a life of winter for her ! 
Bright but chilly, alive without stir, 
So splendidly comfortless, — just like a fir 

When the frost is severe and bitter. 

Such were the future man and wife ! 
Whose bale or bliss to the end of life 
A few short words were to settle — 
Wilt thou have this woman 7 

I will — and then. 
Wilt thou have this man ? 
I will, and Amen — 
And those two were one flesh, in the angels' ken, 
Except one Leg — that was metal. 

Then the names were signed — and kissed the kiss 
And the bride, who came from her coach a miss, 

As a countess walked to her carriage — 
Whilst Hymen preened his plumes like a dove, 
And Cupid fluttered his wings above, 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND IIEll I'llECIOUS LEO. 285 

In the shape of a flj — as little a Love 
As ever looked in at a marriage ! 

Another crash — and away they dashed, 
And the gilded carriage and footmen flashed 

From the eyes of the gaping people — 
"Who turned to gaze at the toe-and-heel 
Of the golden boys beginning a reel, 
To the merry sound of a wedding-peal 

From St. James's musical steeple. 

Those wedding-bells ! those wedding-bells ! 
How SAveetly they sound in pastoral dells 

From a tower in an ivy-green jacket ! 
.But town-made joys how dearly they cost ; 
And after all are tumbled and tost, 
Like a peal from a London steeple, and lost 

In town-made riot and racket. 

The wedding-peal, how sweetly it peals 
With grass or heather beneath our heels, — 

For bells are Music's laughter ! — 
But a London peal, well mingled, be sure, 
With vulgar noises and voices impure, 
What a harsh and discordant overture 

To the harmony meant to come after ! 

But hence with Discord — perchance, too soon 
To cloud the face of the honeymoon 

With a dismal occultation ! — 
Whatever Fate's concerted trick. 
The countess and count, at the present nick, 
Have a chicken and not a crow to pick 

At a sumptuous cold collation. 

A breakfiist — no unsubstantial mess, 
But one in the style of good Queen Bess, 
Who — hearty as hippocampus — 



286 MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PllECIOUS LEG. 

Broke her fast with ale and beef, 
Instead of toast and the Chinese leaf, 
And in lieu of anchovy — grampus ! 

A breakfast of fowl, and fish,* and flesh, 
Whatever was sweet, er salt, or fresh, 

With Avines the most rare and curious — 
Wines, of the richest flavor and hue ; 
With fruits from the worlds both Old and New ; 
And fruits obtained before they were due 

At a discount most usurious. 

For wealthy palates there be, that scout 
What is i?i season, for what is out, 

And prefer all precocious savor ; 
For instance, early green peas, of the sort 
That costs some four or five guineas a quart ; 

Where the Mint is the principal flavor. 

And many a wealthy man was there. 
Such as the wealthy city could spare, 

To put in a portly appearance — 
Men whom their fathers had helped to gild : 
And men who had had their fortunes to build, 
And — much to their credit — had richly filled 

Their purses by 2)iirs'i/-ve?mice. 

Men, by popular rumor at least, ' 
Not the last to enjoy a feast ! 

And truly they Avere not idle ! 
Luckier far than the chestnut tits, 
Which, down at the door, stood champing their bits, 

At a difierent sort of bridle. 

For the time was come — and the whiskered count 
Helped his bride in the carriage to mount, 
And fain would the Muse deny it, 



MISS KILMANSEGO AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 287 

But the crowd, including two butchers in blue, 
(The regular killing Whitechapel hue,) 
Of her Precious Calf had as ample a view, 
As if they had come to buy it ! 

Then away ! away ! with all the speed 
That golden spurs can give to the steed, — 
Both yellow boys and guineas, indeed, 

Concurred to urge the cattle, — 
Away they went, with favoi's white. 
Yellow jackets, and pannels bright, 
And left the mob, like a mob at night. 

Agape at the sound of a rattle. 

Away ! away ! they rattled and rolled. 

The count, and his bride, and her Leg of Gold — 

That faded charm to the charmer ! 
Away, — through Old Brentford rang the din, 
Of wheels and heels, on their way to win 
That hill, named after one of her kin 

The Hill of the Golden Farmer ! 

Gold, still gold — it flew like dust ! 

It tipped the post-boy, and paid the trust ; 

In each open palm it was freely thrust ; 

There was nothing but giving and taking ! 
And if gold could insure the future liour, 
What hopes attended that bride to her bower ; 
But, alas ! even hearts with a four-horse power 

Of opulence end in breaking ! 

The moon — the moon, so silver and cc.'d 
Her fickle temper has oft been told, 

Now shady — now bright and sunny — 
But, of all the lunar things that change. 
The one that shows most fickle and strange, 



288 MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

And takes the most eccentric range, 
Is the moon — so called — of honej ! 

To some a full-grown orb revealed, 
As big and as round as Nerval's shield. 

And as brio-ht as a burner Bude-lighted : 
To others as dull, and dingy, and damp, 
As any oleaginous lamp, 
Of the regular old parochial stamp, 

In a London fog benighted. 

To the loving, a bright and constant sphere, 
That makes earth's commonest scenes appear 

All poetic, romantic, and tender ; 
Hanging with jewels a cabbage-stump, 
And investing a common post, or a pump, 
A currant-bush or a gooseberry clump, 

With a halo of dreamlike splendor. 

A sphere such as shone from Italian skies. 
In Juliet's dear, dark, liquid eyes. 

Tipping trees with its argent braveries — 
And to couples not favored with Fortune's boons 
One of the most delio-htful of moons, 
For it brightens their pewter platters and spoona 

Like a silver service of Savory's ! 

For all is bright, and beauteous, and clear. 
And the meanest thing most precious and dear, 

When the magic of love is present : 
Love, that lends a sweetness and grace 
To the humblest spot and the plainest flice — 
That turns Wilderness Row into Paradise Place^ 

And Garlic Hill to Mount Pleasant ! 

Love that sweetens sugarless tea. 
And makes contentment and joy agree 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PEECIOUS LEG. 289 

With tlie coarsest boarding and bedding; 
Love, that no golden ties can attach, 
But nestles under the humblest thatch, . 
And will fly away from an emperor's match 

To dance at a penny wedding ! 

0, happy, happy, thrice happy state, 
When such a bright planet governs the fate 

Of a pair of united lovers ! 
'T is theirs, in spite of the serpent's hiss, 
To enjoy the pure primeval kiss 
With as much of the old original bliss 

As mortality ever recovers ! 

There 's strength in double joints, no doubt, 

In double X Ale, and Dublin Stout, 

That the single sorts know nothing about — 

And a fist is strongest when doubled — 
And double aqua-fortis, of course, 
And double soda-water, perforce. 

Are the strongest that ever bubbled ! 

There 's double beauty whenever a swan 
Swims on a lake, with her double thereon : 
And ask the gardener, Luke or John, 

Of the beauty of double-blo^ving — 
A double dahlia delights the eye ; 
And it 's far the loveliest sight in the sky 

When a double rainbow is glowing ! 

There 's Avarmth in a pair of double soles ; 
As well as a double allowance of coals — 

In a coat that is double-breasted — 
In double windows and double doors ; 
And a double U wind is blest by scores 

For its warmth to the tender-chested. 

19 



290 MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

There 's two-fold sweetness in double-pipes ; 
And a double barrel and double snipes 

Give the sportsman a duplicate pleasure : 
There 's double safety in double locks ; 
And double letters bring cash for the box ; 
And all the world knows that double knocks 

Are gentility's double measure. 

There 's a double sweetness in double rhymes 
And a double at whist and a double Times 

In profit are certainly double — 
By doubling, the hare contrives to escape : 
And all seamen delight in a doubled cape, 

And a double-reefed topsail in trouble. 

There's a double chuck at a double chin, 

And of course there 's a double pleasure therein, 

If the parties are brought to telling : 
And, however our Dennises take offence, 
A double meaning shows double sense ; 
And if proverbs tell truth, 
A double tooth 
Is Wisdom's adopted dAvelling ! 

Eut double wisdom, and pleasure, and sense, 
Beauty, respect, strength, comfort, and thence 

Through whatever the list discovers. 
They are all in the double blessedness summed 
Of what was formerly double-drummed, 

The marriage of two true lovers ! 

Now the Kilmanseo;2; Moon — it must be told — 
Though instead of silver it tipped w^ith gold — 
Shone rather wan, and distant, and cold, 

And, before its days were at thirty. 
Such gloomy clouds began to collect 



MISS KTLMANSEGG AND IIER PllECIOUS LEO. 291 

With an ominous ring of ill effect, 
As gave but too much cause to expect 
Such weather as seamen call dirty ! 

And yet the moon was the " young May moon," 
And the scented haAvthorn had blossomed soon, 

And the thrush and the blackbird were singing — 
The snow-white lambs were skipping in play, 
And the bee was humming a tune all day 
To flowers as welcome as flowers in May, 

And the trout in the stream was springing ! 

But what were the hues of the blooming earth. 
Its scents — its sounds — or the music and mirth. 

Or its furred or its feathered creatures, 
To a pair in the world's last sordid stage. 
Who had never looked into Nature's page. 
And had strange ideas of a Golden Age, 

Without any Arcadian features ? 

And what w^ere joys of the pastoral kind 

To a bride — town-made — with a heart and mind 

With simplicity ever at battle '? 
A bride of an ostentatious race, 
Who, thrown in the Golden Farmer's place. 
Would have trimmed her shepherds with golden lacc^ 

And gilt the horns of her cattle. 

She could not please the pigs with her whim, 
And the sheep would n't cast their eyes at a limb 

For which she had been- such a martyr : 
The deer in the park, and the colts at grass, 
And the cows, unheeded let it pass ; 
And the ass on the common was such an ass, 
That he wouldn't have swapped 
The thistle he cropped 
For her Leg, including the Garter ! 



292 MISS KILMANbEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

She hated lanes, and she hated fields — 
She hated all that the country yields — -~^ 

And barely knew turnips from clover : 
She hated walking in any shape, 
And a country stile Avas an awkward scrape, 
Without the bribe of a mob to gape 

At the Leg in clambering over ! 

blessed Nature, '' rus ! rus ! '' 
"Who cannot sigh for the country thus, 

Absorbed in a worldly torpor — 
Who does not yearn for its meadow-sweet breath, 
Untainted by care, and crime, and death, 
And to stand sometimes upon grass or heath — 

That soul, spite of gold, is a pauper ! 

But to hail the pearly advent of Morn, 
And relish the odor fresh from the thorn, 

She was far too pampered a madam — 
Or to joy in the daylight waxing strong, 
While, after ages of sorrow and wrong. 
The scorn of the proud, the misrule of the strong, 
And all the woes that to man belong. 
The lark still carols the self-same song 

That he did to the uncurst Adam ! 

The Lark ! she had given all Leipsic's flocks 
For a Vauxhall tune in a musical box ; 

And as for the birds in the thicket, 
Thrush or ousel in leafy niche, 
The linnet or finch, she was far too rich 
To care for a morning concert to which 

She was welcome without any ticket. 

Gold, still gold, her standard of old, 
All pastoral joys were tried by gold, 
Or by fancies golden and crural — 



MISS KILMANSEua AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 293 

Till ere she had passed one week unblest. 
As her ao-ricultural uncle's <2;uest, 
Her mind was made up and fully imprest 
That felicity could not be rural ! 

And the count 7 — to the snow-white lambs at play. 
And all the scents and the sights of May, 

And the birds that warbled their passion, 
His ears, and dark eyes, and decided nose, 
Were as deaf and as blind and as dull as those 
That overlook the Bouquet de Rose, 
The Huile Antique, 
And Parfum Unique, 
In a barber's Temple of Fashion. 

To tell, indeed, the true extent 
Of his rural bias, so far it went 

As to covet estates in ring fences — 
And for rural lore he had learned in town 
That the country was green turned up with brown, 
And garnished with trees that a man might cut down 

Instead of his own expenses. 

And yet, had that fault been his only one, 
The pair might have had few quarrels or none, 

For their tastes thus far were in common ; 
But faults he had that a haughty bride 
With a Golden Leg could hardly abide — 
Faults that would even have roused the pride 

Of a far less metalsome woman ! 

It was early days indeed for a wife, 
In the very spring of her married life, 

Tc be chilled by its wintry weather — 
But, instead of sitting as love-birds do. 
Or Hymen's tui-tles that bill and coo — 



294 MISS KILMANSEQG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

Enjoying their "moon and honey for two," 
They were scarcely seen together ! 

In vain she sat with her Precious Leg 
A little exposed d la Kilmansegg, 

And rolled her eyes in their sockets ! 
He left her in spite of her tender regards, 
And those loving murmurs described by bards, 
For the rattling of dice and the shuffling of cards, 

And the poking of balls into pockets ! 

Moreover he loved the deepest stake 

And the heaviest bets the players would make ; 

And he drank — the reverse of sparely, — 
And he used strange curses that made her fret ; 
And when he played with herself at piquet, 
She found, to her cost, 
For she always lost, 
That the count did not count quite fairly. 

And then came dark mistrust and doubt. 
Gathered by worming his secrets out, 

And slips in his conversations — 
Fears, which all her peace destroyed. 
That his title was null — his coffers were void — 
And his French chateau was in Spain, or enjoyed 

The most airy of situations. 

But still his heart — if he had such a part — 
She — only she — might possess his heart, 

And hold his affections in fetters — 
Alas ! that hope, like a crazy ship, 
Was forced its anchor and cable to slip 
"When, seduced by her fears, she took a dip 

In his private papers and letters. 



MISS KILMANSEGG AXP HER PRECIOUS LEG. 295 

Letters that told of danijferous leagrues : 
And notes that hinted as many intrigues 

As the count's in the " Barber of Seville " — 
In short, such mysteries came to light, 
That the countess-bride, on the thirtieth night, 
Woke and started up in affright. 
And kicked and screamed with all her mio:ht. 
And finally fainted away outright, 

For she dreamt she had married the Devil ! 

Wlio hath not met with home-made bread, 
A heavy compound of putty and lead — 
And home-made wines that rack the head, 

And home-made liqueurs and waters 1 
Home-made pop that will not foam. 
And home-made dishes that drive one from home, 
Not to name each mess, 
For the face or dress, 
Home-made by the homely daughters 1 

Home-made physic, that sickens the sick ; 
Thick for thin and thin for thick ; — 
In short, each homogeneous trick 

For poisoning domesticity 7 
And since our Parents, called the First, 
A little family squabble nurst, 
Of all our evils the worst of the worst 

Is home-made infelicity. 

There 's a golden bird that claps its wings. 
And dances for joy on its perch, and sings 

With a Persian exultation : 
For the sun is shining into the room. 
And brightens up the carpet-bloom, 



296 MISS KILMANSEGG AND IIER PRECIOUS LEG. 

As if it were new, bran-new from the loom, 
Or the lone nun's fabrication. 

And thence the glorious radiance flames 
On pictures in massy gilded frames 
Enshrining, ho^yever, no painted dames, 

But portraits of colts and fillies — 
Pictures hanging on walls which shine. 
In spite of the bard's familiar line, 

With clusters of " gilded lilies." 

And still the flooding sunlight shares 
Its lustre with gilded sofas and chairs, 

That shine as if freshly burnished — 
And gilded tables, with glittering stocks 
Of gilded china, and golden clocks. 
Toy, and trinket, and musical box, 

That Peace and Paris have furnished. 

And, lo ! with the brightest gleam of all 
The gloAving sunbeam is seen to fall 

On an object as rare as splendid — 
The golden foot of the Golden Leg 
Of the countess — once Miss Kilmansegg — - 

But there all sunshine is ended. 

Her cheek is pale, and her eye is dim, 
And downward cast, yet not at the limb, 

Once the centre of all speculation ; 
But downward drooping in comfort's dearth, 
As gloomy thoughts are drawn to the earth - 
Whence human sorrows derive their birth — 

By a moral gravitation. 

Her golden hair is out of its braids, 
And her sighs betray the gloomy shades 
That her evil planet revolves in — 



MISS KILMANSEGG AXD UBR PRECIOUS LEG. 297 

And tears are fallinor that catch a irleam 
So bright as thej drop in the sunny beam, 
That tears of aqua regia they seem 
The water that gold dissolves in ! 

Yet, not in filial grief were shed 

Those tears for a mother's insanity ; 
Nor yet because her father was dead, 
For the bowing Sir Jacob had bowed his head 

To Deatii — with his usual urbanity ; 
The waters that down her visage rilled 
Were drops of unrectified spirit distilled 

Froili the limbec of Pride and Vanity. 

Tears that fell alone and uncheckt, 

Without relief, and without respect, 

Like the fiibled pearls that the pigs neglect, 

When pigs have that opportunity — 
And of all the griefs that mortals share, 
The one that seems the hardest to bear 

Is the grief without community. 

How blessed the heart that has a friend 
A sympathizing ear to lend 

To troubles too great to smother ! 
For as ale and porter, when flat, are restored 
Till a sparkling, bubbling head they afford, 
So sorrow is cheered by being poured 

From one vessel into another. 

But friend or gossip she had not one 

To hear the vile deeds that the count had done, 

How night after night he rambled ; 
And how she had learned by sad degrees 
That he drank, and smoked, and, worse than these, 

That he "swindled, intrigued, and gambled." 



298 MISS Kll.MANSICGG AND HER PRECIOUS LE(i. 

How lie kissed tlie maids, and sparred with John ; 
And came to bed with his garments on ; 

With other offences as heinous — 
And brought strange gentlemen home to dine, 
That he said were in the Fancy line, 
And they fancied spirits instead of wine, 

And called her kp-dog " Wenus ! " 

Of •' making a book " how he made a stir. 
But never had written a line to her, 

Once his idol and Cara Sposa : 
And how he had stormed, and treated her ill, 
Because she refused to go down to a mill, 
She didn't know where, but remembered still 

That the miller's name was Mendoza. 

How often he waked her up at night, 
And oftener stifl by the morning light. 

Reeling home from his haunts unlawful ; 
Singing songs that should n't be sung. 
Except by beggars and thieves unhung — 
Or volleying oaths, that a foreign tongue 

Made still more horrid and awful ! 

How oft, instead of otto of rose, 

With vulgar smells he offended her nose, 

From gin, tobacco, and onion ! 
And then, how wildly he used to stare ! 
And shake his fist at nothing, and swear, — 
And pluck by the handful his shaggy hair. 
Till he looked like a study of Giant Despair 

For a new edition of Bunyan ! 

For dice will run the contrary way. 
As well is known to all who play. 

And cards will conspire as in treason : 
And what with keeping a hunting-box. 



AITSS KILMANSEGCx AND HER VRKCIOUS LEG. 299 

Following fox — 
Friends in flocks. 
Burgundies, Hocks, 
From London Docks; 
Stultz's frocks, 
!Manton and Nock's 
Barrels and locks, 
Shooting blue rocks. 
Trainers and jocks, 
Buskins and socks, 
Pugilistical knocks. 
And fio;htino;-cocks, 
If he found himself short in funds and stocks, 
These rhymes will furnish the reason ! 

His friends, indeed, were flilling away — 
Friends who insist on play or pay — 
And he feared at no very distant day 

To be cut by Lord and by Cadger, 
As one who was gone or going to smash, 
For his checks no longer drew the cash, 
Because, as his comrades explained in flash 

"■ He had overdrawn his badger." 

Gold ! gold — alas ! for the gold 
Spent wdiere souls are bought and sold, 

In Vice's Walpurgis revel ! 
Alas ! for muffles, and bulldogs, and guns, 
The leg that walks, and the leg that runs, 
All real evils, though Fancy ones, 
When they lead to debt, dishonor, and duns, 

Nay, to death, and perchance the Devil ! 

Alas ! for the last of a Golden race ! 
Had she cried her wrongs in the market-place. 
She had warrant for all her clamor — 



300 MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

For the worst of rogues, and brutes, and rakes, 
Was breaking her heart bj constant aches. 
With as little remorse as the pauper who breaks 
A flint with a parish hammer ! 

^£v 3last 212^111. 

Now the Precious Leg, while cash was flush, 
Or the count's acceptance Avorth a rush, 

Had never excited dissension ; 
But no sooner the stocks began to fall, 
Than, without anj ossification at all. 
The limb became what people call 

A perfect bone of contention. 

For altered days brought altered ways. 
And instead of the complimentary phrase, 

So current before her bridal — 
The countess heard, in language low. 
That her Precious Leg was precious slow, 
A good 'un to look at but bad to go, 

And kept quite a sum lying idle. 

That instead of playing musical airs. 

Like Colin' s foot in going up-stairs — 

As the wife in the Scottish ballad declares — 

It made an infernal stumping. 
Whereas a member of cork, or wood. 
Would be lighter and cheaper, and quite as good, 

Without the unbearable thumping. 

Perhaps she thought it a decent thing 
To show her calf to cobbler and king. 

But nothing could be absurder — 
While none but the crazy would advertise 
Their gold before their servants' eyes, 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 801 

Who of course some night would make it a prize, 
Bj a shocking and barbarous murder. 

But spite of hint, and threat, and scoff. 

The Leg kept its situation : 
For legs are not to be taken off 

By a verbal amputation. 
And mortals when they take a whim, 
The greater the folly the stiffer the limb 

That stands upon it or by it — 
So the countess, then Miss Kilmansegg, 
At her marriage refused to stir a peg, 
Till the lawyers had fastened on her leg, 

As fast as the law could tie it. 

Firmly then — and more firmly yet — 

With scorn for scorn, and with threat for threat, 

The proud one confronted the cruel : 
And loud and bitter the quarrel arose, 
Fierce and merciless — one of those. 
With spoken daggers, and looks like blows, 

Li all but the bloodshed a duel ! 

Rash, and wild, and wretched, and wrong. 
Were the words that came from weak and strong, 

Till, maddened for desperate matters. 
Fierce as tigress escaped fi-om her den. 
She flew to her desk — 't was opened — and then, 
In the time it takes to try a pen, 
Or the clerk to utter his slow Amen, 

Her Will was in fifty tatters ! 

But the count, instead of curses wild, 
Only nodded his head and smiled. 
As if at the spleen of an angry child ; 



o» 



tS02 MISS KILMANSEGa AND IIEU PRECIOUS LEO. 

But the calm was deceitful and sinister ! 
A lull like the lull of the treaclicrous sea — 
For Hate in that moment had sworn to be 
The Golden Leg's sole Legatee, 

And that very night to administer ! 

'T is a stern and startling thing to think 
\How often mortality stands on the brink 

Of its grave without any misgiving : 
And yet, in this slippery world of strife, 
In the stir of human bustle so rife 
There are daily sounds to tell us that Life 

Is dying, and Death is living ! 

Ay, Beauty the girl, and Love the boy, 
Bright as they are with hope and joy, 

How their souls would sadden instanter, 
To remember that one of those wedding bells 
Which ring so merrily through the dells. 
Is the same that knells 
Our last farewells, 
Only broken into a canter ! 

But breath and blood set doom at naught — 
How little the wretched countess thought, 
When at night she unloosed her sandal, 
That the Fates had woven her burial-cloth, 
And that Death, in the shape of a death's-hoad moth. 
Was fluttering round her candle ! 

As she looked at her clock of or-molu, 

For the hours she had gone so wearily through 

At the end of a day of trial — 
How little she saw in her pride of prime 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND HEli PllECIOUS LEG. 308 

The dart of death in the hand of Time — 
That hand which moved on the dial ! 

As she went with her taper up the stair, 
How little her swollen eye was aware 

That the Shadow which followed was double ! 
Or when she closed her chamber door, 
It was shutting out, and forevermore, 

The world — and its worldly trouble. 

Little she dreamt, as she laid aside 

Her jewels — after one glance of pride — 

They were solemn bequests to Vanity — 
Or when her robes she began to doff, 
That she stood so near to the putting off 

Of tlie flesh that clothes humanity. 

And when she quenched the taper's light, 
How little she thought, as the smoke took flight 
That her day was done — and merged in a night 
Of dreams and duration uncertain — 
Or, along with her own, 
That a hand of bone 
Was closing mortality's curtain ! 

But life is sweet, and mortality blind. 
And youth is hopeful, and Fate is kind 

Tn concealing the day of sorrow ; 
And enough is the present tense of toil — 
For this world is, to all, a stifiish soil — 
And the mind flies back with a glad recoil 

From the debts not due till to-morrow. 

Wherefore else does the spirit fly 
And bid its daily cares good-by, 
Along with its daily clothing? 
Just as the felon condemned to die — 



304 MISS KILMANSEQG AND HER PRECIOUS LEG. 

With a very natural loathing — 
Leaving the sheriff to dream of ropes, 
From his gloomj cell in a vision elopes, 
To caper on sunny greens and slopes, 

Instead of the dance upon nothing. 

Thus, even thus, the countess slept, 

^A hile Death still nearer and nearer crept, 

Like the Thane who smote the sleeping- - 
But her mind was busy Avitli early joys. 
Her golden treasures and golden toys, 
That flashed a bright 
And golden liglit 
Under lids still red with weeping. 

The golden doll that she used to hug ! 
Her coral of gold, and the golden mug ! 

Her godfather's golden presents ! 
The golden service she had at her meals, 
The golden watch, and chain, and seals, 
Her golden scissors, and thread, and reels, 

And her golden fishes and pheasants ! 

The golden guineas in silken purse — 

And the golden legends she heard from her nurse, 

Of the Mayor in his gilded carriage — 
And London streets that were paved with gold — 
And the golden eggs that were laid of old — 
With each golden thing 
To the golden ring 
At her own auriferous marriage ! 

And still the golden light of the sun 
Through her golden dream appeared to run, 
Though the night that roared without was one 
To terrify seamen or gypsies — 



MISS KILMANSEGG AND IIER PRECIOUS LS». 30f 

While the moon, as if in raalicious mirth, 



Kept peeping down at the ruffled earth, 
As though she enjoyed the tempest's birth, 
In revenge of lier old eclipses. 

But vainly, vainly the thunder fell, 

For the soul of the sleeper vras under a spell 

That time had lately embittered — 
The count, as once at her foot he knelt — 
That foot which noAV lie wanted to melt ! 
But — hush! — 't Avas a stir at her pillow she felt- 

And some object before her glittered. 

'T was the Golden Leg ! — she knew its gleam ! 
And up she started, and tried to scream, — 

But even in the moment she started — 
Down came the limb with a frightful smash, 
And, lost in the universal flash 
That her eyeballs made at so mortal a crash, 

The spark, called Vital, departed ! 

* * * * 

Gold, still gold ! hard, yellow, and cold, 

For gold she had lived, and she died for gold — 

By a golden weapon — not oaken ; 
In the morning they found her all alone — 
Stiff, and bloody, and cold as stone — 
But her Leg, the Golden Leg, was gone, 

And the " golden bowl was broken ! " 

Gold — still gold ! it haunted her yet — 
At the Golden Lion the inquest met — 

Its foreman, a carver and gilder — 
And the jury debated from twelve till three 
What the verdict ought to be. 

20 



^06 A MORNING THOUGHT. 

And they brought it in as Felo-de-Se, 
^ '' Because her own leg had killed her ! " 

Gold! gold! gold! gold! 
Bright and yellow, hard and cold, 
Molten, graven, hammered and rolled ; 
Heavy to get, and light to hold ; 
Hoarded, bartered, bought, and sold, 
Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled : 
Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old 
To the very verge of the church-yard mould ; 
Price of many a crime untold : 
Gold ! gold ! gold ! gold ! 
Good or bad a thousand-fold ! 

How widely its agencies vary — 
To save — to ruin — to curse — to bless — 
As even its minted coins express, 
Now stamped with the image of good Queen Bess, 

And now of a Bloody Mary. 



A MORNING THOUGHT. 

No more, no more will I resign 
My couch so warm and soft, 

To trouble trout with hook and line^ 
That will not spring aloft. 

With larks appointments one may fix 
To greet the dawning skies. 

But hang the getting up at six 
For fish that will not rise! 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 



'• Old woman, old woman, will you go a-shearing 1 
Speak a little louder, for I 'm very hard of hearing." 

Old Bali^d. 



Of all old women hard of hearinor, 

The deafest, sure, was Dame Eleanor Spearing ! 

On her head, it is true, 

Two flaps there grew, 
That served for a pair of gold rings to go through 
But for any purpose of ears in a parley, 
They heard no more than ears of barley. 

No hint was needed from D. E. F. 

You saw in her face that the woman was deaf: 

From her twisted mouth to her eyes so peery, 

Each queer feature asked a query ; 

A look that said, in a silent way, 

" Who ? and What 7 and How 7 and Eh 7- 

I 'd give my ears to know what jom say ! " 

And well she might ! for each auricular 

Was deaf as a post — and that post in particular 

That stands at the corner of Dyott-street now, 

And never hears a word of a row ! 

Ears that might serve her now and then 
As extempore racks for an idle pen ; 
Or to hang with hoops from jewellers' shops 
With coral, ruby, or garnet drops ; 



308 A TALE OP A TRUMPET. 

Or, provided the owner so ir^clined, 

Ears to stick a blister behind ; 

But as for hearing wisdom or wit, 

Falsehood, or folly, or tell-tale-tit, 

Or politics, whether of Fox or Pitt, 

Sermon, lecture, or musical bit. 

Harp, piano, fiddle, or kit, 

They might as well, for any such wish. 

Have been buttered, done brown, and laid in a dish ! 

She was deaf as a post, — as said before, — 

And as deaf as twenty similes more. 

Including the adder, that deafest of snakes. 

Which never hears the coil it makes. 

She was deaf as a house — which modern tricks 
Of lano-uaD-e w^ould call as deaf as bricks — 
For her all human kind w^ere dumb, 
Her drum, indeed, was so muffled a drum, 
That none could get a sound to come, 
Unless the Devil who had Two Sticks ! 
She was deaf as a stone — say one of the stones 
Demosthenes sucked to improve his tones ; 
And surely deafness no further could reach 
Than to be in his mouth without hearing his speech ! 
She Avas deaf as a nut — for nuts, no doubt. 
Are deaf to the grub that 's hollowing out — 
As deaf, alas ! as the dead and forgotten — 
(Gray has noticed the waste of breath. 
In addressing the " dull, cold ear of death "), 
Or the Felon's ear that was stuffed with Cotton -- 
Or Charles the First, i?i statue quo : 
Or the still-born figures of Madame Tussaud, 
"With their eyes of glass, and their hair of flax, 
That only stare, whatever you '• ax,'"' 
For their ears, you know, are nothing but wax. 



A TALE OF A TllU.MPl'T. 300 

She was deaf as the ducks that swam in the pond, 

And would n't listen to Mrs. Bond, — 

As deaf as any Frenchman appears. 

When he puts his shoulders into his ears : 

And — whatever the citizsn tells his son — 

As deaf as Go^i; and Ma^-oji; at one ! 

Or, still to be a simile-seeker. 

As deaf as dog"s-ears to Enfield's Speaker ! 

She was deaf as any tradesman's dummy, 
Or as Pharaoh's mother's mother's mummy; 
Whose organs, for fear of our modern sceptics, 
Were plugged with gums and antiseptics. 

She was deaf as a nail — that you cannot hammer 
A meaning into, for all your clamor — 
There never icas such a deaf old Gammer ! 

So formed to worry 

Both Lindley and Murray, 
By having no ear for music or grammar ! 

Deaf to sounds, as a ship out of soundings, 
Deaf to verbs, and all their compoundings, 
Adjective, noun, and adverb, and particle, 
Deaf to even the definite article — 
No verbal message was worth a pin, 
Though you hired an earwig to carry it in ! 

In short, she was twice as deaf as Deaf Burke, 

Or all the deafness in Yearsley's Work, 

Who, in spite of his skill in hardness of hearing. 
Boring, blasting, and pioneering, 
To give the dunny organ a clearing, 

Could never have cured Dame Eleanor Spearing, 

Of course the loss was a great privation, 
For one of her sex — whatever her station — 
And none the loss that the dame had a turn 



310 A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 

For making all families one concern, 

And learning ^vliatever there was to learn 

In the prattling, tattling village of Tringham — 

As who wore silk l and who ay ore gingham 7 

And what the Atkins's shop might bring 'em? 

How the Smiths contrived to live 7 and whether 

The fourteen Murph js all pigged together ? 

The wages per week of the Weavers and Skinners, 

And what they boiled for their Sunday dinners? 

What plates the Bugsbys had on the shelf, 

Crockery, china, wooden, or delf ? 

And if the parlor of Mrs. 0" Grady 

Had a wicked French print, or Death and the Lady ? 

Did Snip and his wife continue to jangle 7 

Had Mrs. W^ilkinson sold her mangle 7 

What liquor was drunk by Jones and Brown 7 

And the weekly score they ran up at the Crown 7 

If the cobbler could read, and believed in the Pope? 

And how the Grubbs were off for soap 7 

K the Snobbs had furnished their room up stairs. 

And how they managed for tables and chairs, 

Beds, and other household affairs, 

Iron, wooden, and Staffordshire wares ; 

And if they could muster a whole pair of bellows ] 
In fact she had much of the spirit that lies 
Perdu in a notable set of Paul Prys, 

By courtesy called Statistical Fellows — 
A prying, spying, inquisitive clan. 
Who had gone upon much of the self-same plan, 

Jotting the laboring class's riches ; 
And after poking in pot and pan, 

And routing garments in want of stitches. 
Have ascertained that a workin<2; man 

Wears a pair and a quaiter of average l)reeches ! 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 311 

But this, alas ! from her loss of hearinir. 

Was all a sealed book to Dame Eleanor Spearing; 
And often her tears -would rise to their founts — 

Supposing a little scandal at play 

'Twixt Mrs. O'Fie and Mrs. Au Fait — 

That she could n't audit the gossips' accounts. 

'T is true, to her cottage still they came, 

And ate her muffins just the same, 

And drank the tea of tlic widowed dame. 

And never swallowed a thimble the less 
Of something the reader is left to guess, 
For all the deafness of Mrs. S., 

Who saw them talk, and chuckle, and cou2:h, 
But to see and not share in the social flow, 
She might as well have lived, you know, 
In one of the houses in Owen's Row, 

Near the New River Head, with its water cut off! 

And yet the almond-oil she had tried. 

And fifty infallible things beside, 

Hot, and cold, and thick, and thin. 

Dabbed, and dribbled, and squirted in : 
But all remedies failed ; and thou[!;h some it was clear 

(Like the brandy and salt 

We now exalt) 
Had made a noise in the public ear. 
She was just as deaf as ever, poor dear. 

At last — one very fine day in June — 

Suppose her sittmg, 

Busily knitting, 
And humming she did n't quite know what tune; 

For nothing she heard but a sort of a whizz, 
Which, unless the sound of a circulation, 
Or of thoughts in the process of fabrication. 



312 A TALE OF A TKUMPET. 

By a spinning-jennyish operation, 

It 's hard to say what buzzing it is. 
However, except that ghost of a sound, 
She sat in a silence most profound — 
The cat was purring about the mat, 
But her mistress heard no more of that 
Than if it had been a boatswain's cat ; 
And as for the clock the moments nicking, 
The dame only gave it credit for ticking. 
The bark of her dog she did not catch ; 
Nor yet the click of the lifted latch ; 
Nor yet the creak of the opening door ; 
Nor yet the fall of the foot on the floor — 
But she saw the shadow that crept on her gown, 
And turned its skirt of a darker brown. 

And, lo ! a man ! a pedler 7 ay, marry, 

With a little back-shop that such tradesmen carryj 

Stocked Avith brooches, ribbons, and rings, 

Spectacles, razors, and other odd things, 

For lad and lass, as Autolycus sings ; 

A chapman for goodness and cheapness of ware 

Held a fair dealer enough at a fiiir, 

But deemed a piratical sort of invader 

By him we dub the " regular trader," 

Who, luring the passengers in as they pass 

By lamps, gay panels, and mouldings of brass. 

And windows with ordy one huge pane of glass, 

And his name in gilt characters, German or Roman 

If he is n't a pedler, at least is a showman ! 

However, in the stranger came, 

And, the moment lie met the eyes of the dame. 

Threw her as knowing a nod as though 

He had known her fifty long years ago ; 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 313 

And, piesto : before slic could utter ".)e.ck" - 
Much less " Robinson" — opened his pack — 

And then from amongst his portable gear, 
AVith even more than a pedier's tact, — 
(Slick himself might have envied the act) — 
Before she had time to be deaf, in fact, 

Popped a trumpet into her ear. 

" There, ma'am ! try it ! 

You needn't buy it — 
The last new patent — and nothing comes m^h it 
For affording the deaf, at little expense. 
The sense of hearing, and hearing of sense ! 
A real blessing — and no mistake, 
Invented for poor humanity's sake; 
For what can be a greater privation 
Than playing dummy to all creation. 
And only looking at conversation — 
Great philosophers talking like Platos, 
And members of Parliament moral as Catos, 
And your ears as dull as waxy potatoes ! 
Not to name the mischievous quizzers, 
Sharp as knives, but double as scissors, 
Who get you to answer quite by guess 
Yes for no, and no for yes." 
(" That 's very true," says Dame Eleanor S.) 

" Try it again ! No harm in trying — 

I 'm sure you '11 find it worth your buying. 

A little practice — that is all — 

And you '11 hear a whisper, however small, 

Through an Act of Parliament party wall, — 

Every syllable clear as day. 

And even Avhat people are going to say — 



314 A TALE OF A TRUMPET. . 

I would n't tell a lie, I would n't. 

But my trumpets have heard what Solomon's could n't ; 
And aS' for Scott, he promises fine, 
But can he warrant his horns, like mine, 

Never to hear what a ladj shouldn't? — 
Only a guinea — and can't take less." 
(" That 's very dear," sajs Dame Eleanor S.) 

'' Dear ! — dear, to call it dear! 
Why it is n't a horn you buy, but an ear ] 
Only think, and you '11 find on reflection 
You 're bargaining, ma'am, for the Voice of Affection 
For the language of Wisdom, and Virtue, and Truth, 
And the sweet little innocent prattlef of youth : 
Not to mention the strikins; of clocks — 
Cackle of hens — crowing of cocks — 
Lowing of cow, and bull, and ox — 
Bleating of pretty pastoral flocks — 
Murmur of waterfall over the rocks — 
Every sound that Echo mocks — 
Vocals, fiddles, and musical -box — 
And. zounds ! to call such a concert dear ! 
But I must n't swear v/itli my horn in your ear. 
Why, in buying that trumpet you buy all those 
That Harper, or any trumpeter, blows 
At the Queen's levees, or the Lord Mayor's shows, 
At least as far as the music goes, 
Licludino; the wonderful livelv sound 
Of the Guards' key-bugles all the year round 
Come — suppose we call it a pound ! 
Come," said the talkative man of the pack, 
' Before I put my box on my back, 
For this elegant, useful conductor of sound, 
Come — suppose we call it a pound ! 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. ol5 

" Only a pound ! it 's only the price 
Of hearing a concert once or twice. 

It 's only the fee 

You might give Mr. C, 
And after all not hear his advice, 
But common prudence would bid you stump it ; 

For, not to enlarge, 

It 's the regular charge 
At a fancy fair for a penny trumpet. 
Lord ! what 's a pound to the blessing of hearing ! " 
("A pound 's a pound," said Dame Eleanor Spearing.) 

" Try it again ! no harm in trying ! 

A pound 's a pound, there 's no denying ; 

But think what thousands and thousands of pounds 

We pay for nothing but hearing sounds ; 

Sounds of equity, justice, and law. 

Parliamentary jabber and jaw. 

Pious cant and moral saw. 

Hocus-pocus, and Nong-tong-paw, 

And empty sounds not worth a stra^ ; 

Why, it costs a guinea, as I 'm a sinner, 

To hear the sounds at a public dinner ! 

One-pound-one thrown into the puddle, 

To listen to fiddle, faddle and fuddle ! 

Not to forget the sounds we buy 

From those who sell their sounds so high. 

That, unless the managers pitch it strong, 

To get a signura to warble a song 

You must fork out the blunt with a haymaker's prong. 

" It 's not the thing for me — I know it — 
To crack my own trumpet up and blow it; 
But it is the best, and time will show it. 



316 A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 

There was Mrs. F. 

So very deaf, 
That she might have worn a percussion-cap, 
And been knocked on the head without hearing it snap. 
Well, I sold her a horn, and the very next day 
She heard from her husband at Botany Bay ! 
Come — eighteen shillings — that 's very low, 
You '11 save the money as shillings go, — 
And I never knew so bad a lot, — 
By hearing whether they ring or not ! 
Eighteen shillings ! it 's worth the price, 
Supposing you 're delicate-minded and nice, 
To have the medical man of your choice. 
Instead of the one with the strongest voice — 
Who comes and asks you how 's your liver, 
And where you ache, and whether you shiver 
And as to your nerves so apt to quiver, 
As if he w^as hailins; a boat on the river ! 
And then, with a shout, like Pat in a riot, 
Tells you to keep yourself perfectly quiet ! 

" Or a tradesman comes — as tradesmen w^ill — 
Short and crusty about his bill. 

Of patience, indeed, a perfect scorner. 
And because you 're deaf and unable to pay. 
Shouts whatever he has to say,. 
In a vulgar voice that goes over the way, 

Down the street and round the corner ! 
Come — speak your mind — it 's ' No or Yes.' '' 
(" I 've half a mind," said Dame Eleanor S.) 

" Try it again — no harm in trying ; 

Of course you hear me, as easy as lying ; 

No pain at all, like a surgical trick, 

To make you squall, and struggle, and kick, 



I 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 317 

Liko Juuo, or Rose, 

Whose ear undergoes 
Such horrid tugs at membrane and gristle, 
For being as deaf as yourself to a whistle ! 

'' You may go to surgical chaps, if you choose, 

Who will blow up your tubes like copper flues, 

Or cut your tonsils right away, 

As you 'd shell out your almonds for Christmas-day ; 

And after all a matter of doubt, 

Whether you ever would hear the shout 

Of the little blackguards that bawl about, 

' There you go with your tonsils out ! ' 

Why, I knew a deaf Welshman w^ho came from Glamorgan 

On purpose to try a surgical spell. 

And paid a guinea, and might as well 
Have called a monkey into his organ ! 
For the Aurist only took a mug, 
And poured in his ear some acoustical drug, 
That, instead of curing, deafened him rather, 
As Hamlet's uncle served Hamlet's Hither I 
That 's the way with your surgical gentry ! 
And happy your luck 
If you don't get stuck 
Through your liver and lights at a royal entry. 
Because ^^ou never answered the sentry ! 

'' Try it again, dear madam, try it ! 
iMany would sell their beds to buy it. 
I warrant you often wake up in the night, 
Ready to shake to a jelly with fright, 
And up you must get to strike a light, 
And down you go in you know not what, 
Whether the weather is chilly or not, — 



318 A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 

That 's the waj a cold is got, — 
To see if you heard a noise or not ! 

" Why, Lless you, a woman with organs like your 
Is hardly safe to step out of doors ! 
Just fancy a horse that comes full pelt, 
But as quiet as if he was ' shod with felt,' 
Till he rushes against you with all his force, 
And then I need n't describe, of course. 
While he kicks you about without remorse. 
How awkward it is to be groomed by a horse ! 
Or a bullock comes, as mad as King Lear, 
And you never dream that the brute is near, 
Till he pokes his horn right into your ear. 
Whether you like the thing or lump it, — 
And all for want of buying a trumpet ! 

'' I 'm not a female to fret and vex, 
But if I belonged to the sensitive sex. 
Exposed to all sorts of indelicate sounds, 
I wouldn't be deaf for a thousand pounds. 

Lord ! only think of chucking a copper 
To Jack or Bob with a timber limb. 
Who looks as if he was singing a hymn. 

Instead of a song that 's very improper ! 
Or just suppose in a public place 
You see a great fellow a-pulling a face. 
With his starino; eves and his mouth like an 0, — 
And how is a poor deaf lady to know — 
The lower orders are up to such games — 
If he 's calling ' Green Peas,' or calling her names'? " 
(" They 're tenpence a peck ! " said the deafest of damea.) 

'' 'Tis strange what very strong advising. 
By word of mouth or advertising. 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 319 

By chalking on walls, or placarding on vans, 

With fifty other diiferent plans, 

The very high pressure, in fixct, of pressing, 

It needs to persuade one to purchase a blessing ! 

Whether the Soothing American Syrup, 

A Safety Hat or a Safety Stirrup, — 

Infallible Pills for the human frame. 

Or Rowland's 0-don't-o (an ominous name !) 

A Doudney's suit which the shape so hits 

That it beats all others into ^^5 ; 

A Mechi's razor for beards unshorn, 

Or a Ghost-of-a-AVhisper-Catching Horn ! 

" Try it again, m.a'am, only try ! " 

Was still the voluble pedler's cry ; 

" It 's a great privation, there 's no dispute, 

To live like the dumb unsociable brute. 

And to hear no more of the pj'o and con, 

And how society's going on, 

Than Mumbo Jumbo or Prester John, 

And all for want of this shie qua non ; 

Whereas, with a horn that never offends. 
You may join the genteelest party that is, 
And enjoy all the scandal, and gossip, and quiz, 

And be certain to hear of your absent friends ; — 
Not that elegant ladies, in fact, 
In genteel society ever detract. 
Or lend a brush when a friend is blacked, 
At least as a mere malicious act, — 
But only talk scandal for fear some fool 
Should think they were bred at charity school. 

Or, maybe, you like a little flirtation, 
Which even the most Don Juanish rake 
Would surely object to undertake 

At the same high pitch as an altercation. 



820 A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 

It 's not for me, of course, to judge 
How much a deaf lady ought to begrudge ; 
But half-a-guinea seems no great matter — 
Letting alone more rational patter — 
Only to hear a parrot chatter ; 
Not to mention that feathered ^Yit, 
The starling, who speaks when his tongue is slit; 
The pies and jays that utter words, 
, And other Dicky Gossips of birds. 
That talk with as much good sense and decorum 
As many Beaks who belong to the quorum. 

'• Try it — buy it — say ten-and-six, 
The lowest price a miser could fix : 
I don't pretend with horns of mine, 
Like some in the advertising line, 
To ' magnify soimds ' on such marvellous scales 
That the sounds of a cod seem as big as a whale's ; 
But popular rumors, right or wTong, — 
Charity sermons, short or long, — 
Lecture, speech, concerto, or song, 
All noises and voices, feeble or strong, 
From the hum of a gnat to the clash of a gong, 
This tube will deliver, distinct and clear; 
Or supposing by chance 
You wish to dance, 
Why, it 's putting a Honi-pipe into your ear ! 
Try it — buy it! 
Buy it — try it ! 
The last new patent, and nothing comes nigh if, 

For guiding sounds to proper tunnel : 
Only try till the end of June, 
And if you and the trumpet are out of tune^ 

I '11 turn it gratis into a funnel ! " 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 321 

lu short, the pedler so beset her, 
Lord Bacon couldn't have gammoned her better, — 
With flatteries plump and indirect, 
And plied his tongue with such effect, — 
A tongue that could almost have buttered a crumpet, — 
The deaf old woman bought the trumpet. 
* * * * ^ * 

^ ^ ^ ^ .\L- .^t» 

Tt" 'H' TV" -T^ -ff »Jf 

The pedler was gone. \Yith the horn's assistance, 
She heard his steps die away in the distance ; 
And then she heard the tick of the clock, 
The purring of puss, and the snoring of Shock ! 
And she purposely dropt a pin that was little, 
And heard it fall as plain as a skittle ! 

'T was a wonderful horn, to be but just ! 
Nor meant to gather dust, must, and rust : 
So in half a jiffy, or less than that, 
In her scarlet cloak and her steeple hat. 
Like old Dame Trot, but without her Cat, 
The gossip was hunting all Tringham thorough^ 
As if she meant to canvass the borough. 

Trumpet in hand, or up to the cavity : — 
And, sure, had the horn been one of those 
The wild rhinoceros wears on his nose 

It couldn't have ripped up more depravity! 

Depravity ! mercy shield her ears ! 

'T was plain enough that her village peers 

In the ways of vice were no raw beginners ; 
For whenever she raised the tube to her drum, 
Such sounds were transmitted as only come 

From the very brass band of human sinnei*s ! 

Ribald jest and blasphemous curse, 
CBunyan never vented worse,) 

21 



322 A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 

With all those weeds, not flowers, of speech 

Which the seven Dialecticians teach ; 

Pilthy conjunctions, and dissolute nouns. 

And particles picked from the kennels of towns. 

With irregular verbs for irregular jobs, 

Chiefly active in rows and mobs. 

Picking possessive pronouns' fobs, 

And interjections as bad as a blight, 

Or an Eastern blast, to the blood and the sight ; 

Fanciful phrases for crime and sin, 

And smacking of vulgar lips where gin, 

Garlic, tobacco, and ofliils go in — 

A jargon so truly adapted, in fact. 

To each thievish, obscene, and ferocious act, 

So fit for the brute with the human shape, 

Savage baboon, or libidinous ape. 

From their ugly mouths it will certainly come 

Should they ever get weary of shamming dumb ! 

Alas ! for the voice of Virtue and Truth, 
And the sweet Httle innocent prattle of youth ! 
The smallest urchin whose tongue could tang 
Shocked the dame with a volley of slang, 
Fit for Fagin's juvenile gang ; 
While the charity chap, 
With his muffin cap. 

His crimson coat and his badge so garish. 
Playing at dumps, or pitch in tJie hole, 
Cursed his eyes, limbs, body, and soul, 

As if they did n't belong to the parish ! 
'Twas awful to hear, as she went along, 
The wicked words of the popular sono; ; 

Or supposing she listened — as gossips will — 
At a door ajar, or a window agape, 
To catch the sounds they allowed to escape, 



A TALE OY A TRUMPET. 323 

Those sounds belonged to Depravity still ! 
The dark allusion, or bolder brag 
Of the dexterous " dodge," and the lots of " swag," 
The plundered house — or the stolen nag — 
The blazing rick, or the darker crime 
That c(uenched the spark before its time — 
The wanton speech of the wife immoral — 
The noise of drunken or deadly quarrel, — 
With savao;e menaces, which threatened the life, 
Till the heart seemed merely a strop * for the knife ; ' 
The human liver, no better than that 
Which is sliced and thrown to an old woman's cat ; 

And the head, so useful for shaking and nodding, 
To be punched into holes, like a ' shocking bad hat ' 

That is only fit to be punched into wadding ! 

In short, wherever she turned the horn, 
To the highly bred or the lowly born, 
The working man who looked over the hedge, 
Or the mother nursing her infant pledge, 

The sober Quaker, averse to quarrels, 
Or the governess pacing the village through, 
With her twelve young ladies, two and two, 
Looking, as such young ladies do, 

Trussed by Decorum and stuifed with morals — • 
Whether she listened to H'ob or Bob, 
Nob or Snob, 
The Squire on his cob. 
Or Trudge and his ass at a tinkering job. 
To the saint who expounded at " Little Zion " — 
Or tiie " sinner who kept the Golden Lion " — 
The man teetotally weaned from liquor — 
The beadle, the clerk, or the reverend vicar — 
Nay, the very pie in its cage of Avickcr — 
She gathered such meanings, double or single. 



324 A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 

That, like the bell 
With muffins to sell, 
Her ear was kept in a constant tingle ! 

But this was naught to the tales of ishame, 
The constant runnings of evil fame, 
Foul, and dirty,, and black as ink. 
That her ancient cronies, with nod and wink. 
Poured in her horn like slops in a sink : 

While sitting in conclave, as gossips do, 
With their Hyson or Howqua, black or green, 
And not a little of feline spleen 

Lapped up in " Catty packages," too, 

To give a zest to the sipping and supping ; 
For still, by some invisible tether. 
Scandal and tea are linked together, 

As surely as scarification and cupping ; 
Yet never since Scandal drank Bohea — 
Or sloe, or whatever it happened to be. 
For some grocerly thieves 
Turn over new leaves 
V/ithout much amendino; their lives or their tea — 
No, never since cup was filled or stirred, 
Were such vile and horrible anecdotes heard, 
As blackened their neighbors of either gender, 
Especially that which is called the Tender, 
But instead of the softness we fancy therewith, 
As hardened in vice as the vice of a smith. 

Women ! the wretches ! had soiled and marred 
Whatever to womanly nature belongs : 

For tlie marriage tie they had no regard, 

Nay, sped their mates to the sexton's yard, 

(Like Madame Lafiarge, who with poisonous pinclies 
Kept cutting off her L by inches) 

And as for drinking, they drank so hard 



I 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 325 

That they drank their flat-irons, pokers, and tongs ! 
The men — thej fought and gambled at fairs ; 
And poached — - and didn't respect gray hairs — 
Stole linen, money, plate, poultry, and corses; 
And broke in houses as well as horses ; 
Unfolded folds to kill their own mutton, 
And would their own mothers and wives for a button — 
But not to repeat the deeds they did. 
Backsliding in spite of all moral sldd, 
If all were true that fell from the tono-ue. 
There was not a villaofer. old or vouno-, 
But deserved to be Avhipped, impxisoned, or hung, 
Or sent on those travels Avhich nobody hurries 
To publish at Colburn's, or Longmans', or Murray's. 

Meanwhile the trumpet, con. ainore^ 
Transmitted each vile diabolical story ; 
And gave the least wdiisper of slips and falls. 
As that gallery does in the dome of St. Paul's, 
Which, as all the world knows, by practice or print, 
Is famous for makino; the most of a hint. 
Not a murmur of shame. 
Or buzz of blame. 
Not a flying report that flew at a njime. 
Not a plausible gloss, or significant note, 
Not a word in the scandalous circles afloat 
Of a beam in the eye or diminutive mote, 
But vortex-like that tube of tin 
Sucked the censorious particle in ; 

And, truth to tell, for as willing an organ 
As ever listened to serpent's hiss, 
Nor took the viperous sound amiss, 

On the snaky head of a.n ancient Gorgon ! 



826 A TALE or A TRUMPET. 

The dame, it is true, would mutter •■ Shocking I" 
And give her head a sorrowful rocking, 
And make a clucking with palate and tongue, 
Like the call of Partlett to gather her young, — 
' A sound, when human, that always proclaims 

At least a thousand pities and shames. 

But still the darker the tale of sin, 
Like certain folks when calamities burst. 
Who find a comfort in " hearing the worst," 

The further she poked the trumpet in. 
Nay, worse, whatever she heard, she spread 

East, and West, and North, and South, 
Like the ball which, according to Captain Z., 

Went in at his ear, and came out at his mouth, 

Wliat wonder, between the horn and the dame, 
Such mischief was made wherever they came. 
That the parish of Tringham was all in a flame ! 

For although it requires such loud discharges, 
Such peals of thunder as rumbled at Lear, 
To turn the smallest of table-beer, 
A little whisper breathed into the ear 

Will sour a temper " as sour as varges." 
Li fact, such A^ery ill blood there grew. 

From this private circulation of stories. 
That the nearest neighbors, the village through. 
Looked at each other as yellow and blue 
As any electioneering cre^v 

Wearino; the colors of Whi<T;s and Tories. 

Ah ! well the poet said, in sooth. 

That "whispering tongues can poison Truth," 

Yea, like a dose of oxalic acid, 

AVrench and convulse poor Peace, the placid, 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 327 

And rack dear Love with internal fuel, 
Like arsenic pastry, or, what is as cruel, 
Sugar of lead, that sweetens gruel • 
At least such torments be";an to wrinor 'em 

From the very morn 

When that mischievous horn 
Caught the whisper of tongues in Tringham. 

The Social Clubs dissolved in huffs, 

And the- Sons of Harmony came to cuffs. 

While feuds arose, and family quarrels, 

That discomposed the mechanics of morals. 

For screws were loose between brother and brother, 

While sisters fastened their nails on each other : 

Such wrangles, and jangles, and miff, and tiff, 

And spar, and jar — and breezes as stiff 

As ever upset a friendship or skiff ! 

The plighted lovers, Avho used to walk. 

Refused to meet, and declined to talk ; 

And wished for two moons to reflect the sun, 

That they mightn't look together on one ; 

While wedded affection ran so Ioav, 

That the oldest John Anderson snubbed his Jo — 

And instead of the toddle adown the hill, 

Hand in hand. 

As the song has planned. 
Scratched her, penniless, out of his will ! 

In short, to describe what came to pass 

In a true, though somcAvhat theatrical way. 
Instead of "Love in a Village " — alas ! 
The piece they performed was '" The Devil to Pay ! " 

However, as secrets are brought to light. 

And mischief comes home like chickens at night ; 



528 A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 

And rivers are tracked throughout their course, 
And forgeries traced to their proper source ; — 

And the sow that ought 

By the ear is caught, — 
And the sin to the sinful door is brought ; 
And the cat at last escapes fiom the bag — 
And the saddle is placed on the proper nag ; 
And the fog bloAvs off, and the key is found — 
And the faulty scent is picked out by the hound — 
And the fact turns up like a worm from the ground — 
And the matter gets wind to waft it about ; 
And a hint goes abroad, and the murder is out — 
And the riddle is guessed — and the puzzle is known— 
So the truth was sniffed, and the trumpet was blown ! 

^ jt- ^ Jt -it- 

-TV -T?" -TV '75' 'TV 

'T is a day m November — a day of fog — 
But the Tringham people are all agog ; 
Pathers, mothers, and mothers' sons, — 
With sticks, and staves, and swords, and guns, — 
As if in pursuit of a rabid dog ; 
But their voices — raised to the highest pitch — 
Declare that the o;ame is " a Witch ! — a Witch ! " 
Over the green and along by the George — 
Past the stocks, and the church, and the forge, 
And round the pound, and skirting the pond, 
Till they come to the whitewashed cottage beyond, 
And there at the door they muster and cluster. 
And thump, and kick, and bellow, and bluster — • 
Enough to put old Nick in a fluster ! 
A noise, indeed, so loud and long. 
And mixed with expressions so very strong. 
That supposing, according to popular fame, • 
*' Wise Woman " and Witch to be the same, 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 32^ 

No hag with a broom would unwisely stop, 
But up and aAvaj through the chimney-top ; 
Whereas, the moment they burst the door, 
Planted fast on her sanded floor, 
With her trumpet up to her organ of hearing, 
Lo and behold ! — Dame Eleanor Spearing ! 

! then arises the fearful shout — 

Bawled and screamed, and bandied about — 

*' Seize her ! — drag the old Jezebel out ! " 

While the beadle — the foremost of all the band — • 

Snatches the horn from her trembling hand, 

And after a pause of doubt and fear, 

Puts it up to his sharpest ear. 

'' Now silence — silence — one and all ! '^ 
For the clerk is quoting from Holy Paul 1 

But before he rehearses 

A couple of verses, 
The beadle lets the trumpet fall ; 
For instead of the words so pious and humble, 
He hears a supernatural grumble. 

Enouo;h, enouo;h ! and more than enough ; — 

O / CD O / 

Twenty impatient hands and rough. 
By arm, and leg, and neck, and scruff, 
Apron, 'kerchief, gown of stuff — 
Cap, and pinner, sleeve, and cuff — 
Are clutching the Witch wherever they can^ 
With the spite of woman and fury of man ; 
And then — but first they kill her cat, 
And murder her dog on the very mat — 
And crush the infernal trumpet flat ; — 
And then they hurry her through the door 
She never, never, will enter more ! 



330 A TALB OF A TRUMPET. 

Away ! away ! down the dusty lane 

They pull her, and haul her, Avith might and main 

And happy the ha^^^Juck, Tom or Harry, 

Dandy, or Sandy, Jerry, or Larry, 

Who happens to get "a leg to carry ! " 

And happy the foot that can give her a kick, 

And happy the hand that can find a brick — 

And happy the fingers that hold a stick — 

Knife to cut, or pin to prick — 

And happy the boy who can lend her a lick ; — 

Nay, happy the urchin — charity-bred — 

Who can shy very nigh to her wicked old head ! 

Alas ! to think how people's creeds 
Are contradicted by people's deeds ! 

But though the wishes that Witches utter 
Can play the most diabolical rigs — 
Send styes in the eye — and measle the pigs — 

Grease horses' heels — and spoil the butter ; 
Smut and mildew the corn on the stalk — 
And turn new milk to water and chalk, — 
Blight apples — and give the chickens the pip — 
And cramp the stomach — and cripple the hip — 
And waste the body — and addle the eggs — 
And give a baby bandy legs ; 
Though in common belief a Witch's curse 
Involves all these horrible things and worse — 
As ignorant bumpkins all profess — 
No bumpkin makes a poke the less 
At the back or ribs of old Eleanor S. ! 

As if she were only a sack of barley ; 
Or gives her credit for greater might 
Than the powers of darkness confer at night 

On that other old woman, the parish Charley ; 



A TALE OF A TRUMPET. 331 

Ay, now 's the time for a Witch to call 

On her imps and sucklings one and all — 

Newes, Pjewacket, or Peck in the CroAvn, 

(As Matthew Hopkins has handed them dovni) 

Dick, and AVillet, and Sugar-and-Sack, 

Greedy Grizel, Jarmara the Black, 

Vinegar Tom and the rest of the pack — - 

Ay, now 's the nick for her friend Old Harry 

To come " with his tail " like the bold Glengarry, 

And drive her foes from their savage job 

As a mad Black Bullock would scatter a mob : — 

But no such matter is doAvn in the bond ; 
And spite of her cries that never cease, 
But scare the ducks and astonish the geese. 

The dame is dragged to the flital pond ! 

And now they come to the Avater's brim — 

And in they bundle her — sink or swim : 

Though it's twenty to one that the wretch must drown, 

With twenty sticks to hold her down ; 

Including the help to the self-same end. 

Which a travelling pcdler stops to lend. 

A pedler ! — Yes ! — The same ! — the same 1 

Who sold the horn to the drowninn; dame ! 

And now is foremost amid the stir, 

With a token only revealed to her ; 

A token that makes her shudder and shriek, 

And point with her finger, and strive to speak — 

But before she can utter the name of the Devil, 

Her head is under the water level ! 

There are folks about town — to name no names — 
Wlio much resemble that deafest of dames : 



332 NO. 



And over their tea, and muffins, and crumpets, 
Circulate many a scandalous word, 
And whisper tales they could only have heard 

Through some such Diabolical Trumpets ! 



NO! 

No sun — no moon ! 

No morn — no noon — 
No dawn — no dusk — no proper time of day — 

No sky — no earthly view — 

No distance looking blue — 
No road — no street — no '• t'other side the way ''- 

No end to any Row — 

No indications where the Crescents go — 

No top to any steeple — 
No recognitions of familiar people — 

No courtesies for showing 'em — 

No knowing 'em ! 
No travelling at all — no locomotion, 
No inkling of the way — no notion — 

" No go " — by land or ocean — 

No mail — - no post — 

No news from any foreign coast — 
No park — no ring — no afternoon gentility — 

No company — no nobility — 
No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, 

No comfortable feel in any member — 
No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees, 
No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds. 
November i 



THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTEE. 



Alack ! 't is melancholj theme to think 
How Learning doth in rugged states abide, 
And, like her bashful owl, obscurely blink, 
In pensive glooms and corners, scarcely spied ; 
Not, as in Founders' Halls and domes of pride, 
Served with grave homage, like a tragic queen, 
But with one lonely priest compelled to hide, 
In midst of foggy moors and mosses green. 
In that clay cabin hight the College of Kilreen ! 

This college looketh South and West alsoe. 
Because it hath a cast in windows twain ; 
Crazy and cracked they be, and wind doth blow 
Thorough transparent holes in every pane. 
Which Dan, with many paincs, makes whole again 
With nether o-arments, wliich his thrift doth teach 
To stand for glass, like pronouns, and when rain 
Stormeth, he puts, "once more unto the breach," 
Outside and in, though broke, yet so he mendeth each. 

And in the midst a little door there is, 
Whereon a board that doth congratulate 
With painted letters, red as blood I wis. 
Thus written, «* ([ri)iHircn tafecn in to 33at£;** 
And oft, indeed, the inward of that gate. 
Most ventriloque, doth utter tender squeak, 
And moans of infants that bemoan their ftite 
In midst of sounds of Latin, French, and Greek, 
Which, all i' the Irish tongue, he teacheth them to speak. 



334 THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 

For some are meant to right illegal wrongs, 
And some for Doctors, of Diviuitie, 
Whom he doth teach to murder the dead tongues 
And soe Avin academical degree ; 
But some are bred for service of the sea, 
Howbeit, their store of learning is but small, 
For mickle waste he countcth it would be 
To stock a head with bookish wares at all, 
Only to be knocked off by ruthless cannon-ball. 

Six babes he sways, — some little and some big, 
Divided into classes six ; — alsoe, 
He keeps a parlor boarder of a pig, 
That in the college fareth to and fro, 
And picketh up the urchins' crumbs below, — 
And eke the learned rudiments they scan, 
And thus his A, B, C, doth wisely know, — 
Hereafter to be shown in caravan, 
And raise the wonderment of many a learned man. 

Alsoe, he schools some tame familiar fowls, 
Whereof, above his head, some two or three 
Sit darkly squatting, like Minerva's owls, 
But on the branches of no living tree. 
And overlook the learned fomily ; 
While, sometimes, Partlet, from her gloomy perch, 
Drops feather on the nose of Dominie, 
Meanwhile, with serious eye, he makes research 
In leaves of that sour tree of knowledge — now a birch 

No chair he hath, the awful pedagogue. 
Such as would magisterial hams imbed, 
But sitteth lowly on a beechen log, 
Secure in high authority and dread : 
Large, as a dome for learning, seems his head 
And like Apollo's, all beset with rays, 



THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 336 

Because his locks are so unkempt and red, 
And stand abroad in many several ways : — 
No laurel crown he wears, liowbeit his cap is baize. 

And, underneath, a ])air of shaggy brows 
O'erhang as many eye^s oT gizzard liue, 
That inward giblet of a fowl, which shoAvs 
A mono-rel tint, that is ne brow ne blue ; 
His nose. — it is a coral to the view ; 
Well nourished witli Pierian potheen, — 
For much he loves his native mountain dew ; — 
But to depict the dye would lack, I ween, 
A bottle-red, in terms, as well as bottle-green. 

As for his coat, 't is such a jerkin short 
As Spenser had, ere he composed his Tales ; 
But underneath he hath no vest, nor aught, 
So that the wind his airy breast assails ; 
Below, he wears the nether garb of males, 
Of crimson plush, but non-plushed at the knee : -~ 
Thence farther down the native red prevails, 
Of his own naked fleecy hosierie : — 
Two sandals, Avithout soles, complete his cap-a-pie. 

Nathless, for dignity, he now doth lap 
His function in a magisterial gown. 
That shows more countries in it than a map, — 
Blue tinct, and red, and green, and russet brown, 
Besides some blots, standing for country- town ; 
And eke some rents, for streams and rivers wide j 
But, sometimes, bashful when he looks adown, 
lie turns the garment of the other side, 
Hopeful that so the holes may never be espied ! 

And soe he sits, amidst the little pack. 
That look for shady or for sunny noon. 



306 THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 

Witliin his visage, like an almanack, — 
His quiet smile foretelling gracious boon : 
But when his mouth droops down, like rainy moon, 
With horrid chill each little heart unwarms, 
Knowing that infant showers will follow soon, 
And with forebodings of near wrath and storms 
They sit, like timid hares, all trembling on their forms. 

Ah ! luckless wight, who cannot then repeat 
''Corduroy Colloquy," — or " Ki, Kae, Kod," — 
Full soon his tears shall make his turfy seat 
More sodden, though already made of sod, 
For Dan shall whip him with the word of God, — 
Severe by rule, and not by nature mild, 
He never spoils the child and spares the rod, 
But spoils the rod and never spares the child, 
And soe with holy rule deems he is reconciled. 

But surely the just sky will never wink 
At men who take delight in childish throe, 
And stripe the nether-archin like a pink 
Or tender hyacinth, inscribed with woe ; 
Such bloody pedagogues, when they shall know. 
By useless birches, that forlorn recess, 
Which is no holiday, in Pit below. 
Will hell not seem designed for their distress, — 
A melancholy place, that is all bottomlesse 7 

Yet would the Muse not chide ^be Avholesome use 

Of needful discipline, in due degree. 

Devoid of sway, Avhat wrongs will time produce ! 

Whene'er the twig untrained grows up a tree, 

This shall a Carder, that a Whiteboy be, 

Ferocious leaders of atrocious bands, 

■And Learning's help be used for infamie, 



THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 337 

By lawless clerks, that, -with their bloody hands, 
In murdered English write Rock's murderous commands 

But, ah ! what shrilly cry doth now alarm . 
The sooty fowls that dozed upon the beam, 
All sudden fluttering from the brandished arm 
And cackling chorus with the human scream ; 
Meanwhile the scourge plies that unkindly seam 
In Phelim's brogues, which bares his naked skin, 
Like traitor gap in warlike fort, I deem. 
That falsely lets the fierce besieger in. 
Nor seeks the pedagogue by other course to win. 

No parent dear he hath to heed his cries ; — 
Alas ! his parent dear is far aloof, 
And deep in Seven-Dial cellar lies, 
Killed by kind cudgel-play, or gin of proof, 
Or climbeth, catwise, on some London roof. 
Singing, perchance, a lay of Erin's Isle, 
Or, whilst he labors, weaves a fancy-woof. 
Dreaming he sees his home, — his Phelim smile ; 
Ah, me ! that luckless imp, who weepeth all the while ! 

Ah ! who can paint that hard and heavy time. 
When first the scholar lists in Learning's train, 
And mounts her rugged steep enforced to climb, 
Like sooty imp, by sharp posterior pain. 
From bloody twig, and eke that Indian cane, 
AVherein, alas ! no sugared juices dwell ? 
For this, the while one stripling's sluices drain, 
Another weepeth over chillblains fell, 
Mways upon the heel, yet never to be well ! 

Anon a third, for his delicious root. 

Late ravished from his tooth by elder chit, 

22 



338 THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTEK. 

So soon is liuman violence afoot. 
So hardly is the harmless biter bit ! 
Meanwhile, the tyrant, with untimely wit 
And mouthing face, derides the small one's moan, 
Who, all lamenting for his loss, doth sit. 
Alack, — -mischance comes seldomtimes alone, 
But aye the worried dog must rue more curs than one. 

For, lo ! the pedagogue, with sudden drub, 
Smites his scald head, that is already sore, — 
Superfluous wound, — such is Misfortune's rub ! 
Who straight makes answer with redoubled roar, 
And sheds salt tears twice faster than before, 
That still wath backward fist he strives to dry ; 
Washing with brackish moisture, o*er and o'er, 
His muddy cheek, that grows more foul thereby, 
Till all his rainy flice looks grim as rainy sky. 

So Dan, by dint of noise, obtains a peace. 
And with his natural untender knack. 
By new distress, bids former grievance cease, 
•Like tears dried up with rugged huckaback, 
That sets the mournful visage all awrack ; 
Yet soon the childish countenance will shine 
Even as thorough storms the soonest slack, 
For grief and beef in adverse ways incline, 
This keeps, and that decays, when duly soaked in brine. 

NoAY, all is hushed, and, with a look profound, 
The Dominie lays ope the learned page ; 
(So be it called) although he doth expound 
Without a book, both Greek and Latin sage ; 
Now telleth lie of Rome's rude infant age, 
How Romulus was bred in savage w^ood, 
By wet-nurse wolf, devoid of wolfish rage, 



THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 389 

And laid foundation-stone of walls of mud, 
But watered it, alas ! with warm fraternal blood. 

Anon, he turns to tliat Homeric war, 
How Ti oy was sieged like Londonderry town ; 
And stoLit Achilles, at his jaunting-car, 
Dragged mighty Hector with a bloody crown : 
And eke the bard, that sung of their renown, 
In o;arb of Greece most beojo;ar-like and torn, 
He paints, with colly, w^andering up and down : 
Because, at once, in seven cities born ; 
And so, of parish rights, was, all his days, forlorn. 

Anon, through old Mythology he goes, 
Of gods defunct, and all their pedigrees. 
But shuns their scandalous amours, and shows 
How Plato wise, and clear-eyed Socrates, 
Confessed not to those heathen he's and she's: 
But through the clouds of the Olympic cope 
Beheld St. Peter with his holy kej^s. 
And owned their love was naught, and bowed to Pope, 
Whilst all their purblind race in Pagan mist did grope. 

From such quaint themes he turns, at last, aside, 
To new philosophies, that still are green, 
And shows what railroads have been tracked to guide 
The wheels of great political machine : 
If English corn should o-row abroad, I ween, 
And gold be made of gold, or paper sheet ; 
How many pigs be born to each spalpeen ; 
And, ah i how man shall thrive beyond his meat, — 
With twenty souls alive to one square sod of peat ! 

Here he makes end ; and all the fry of youth, 
That stood around with serious look intense, 



340 THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 

Close up again their gaping eyes and mouth, 
Whicli thej had opened to his eloquence, 
As if their hearing were a three-fold sense. 
But noAV the current of his words is done, 
And whether any fruits shall spring from thence, 
In future time, with any mother's son ! 
It is a thing, God wot ! that can be told by none. 

Now by the creeping shadows of the noon, 
The hour is come to lay aside their lore ; 
The cheerful pedagogue perceives it soon, 
And cries " Begone ! " unto the imps, — and four 
Snatch their two hats and struggle for the door, 
Like ardent spirits vented from a cask, 
All blithe and boisterous, — but leave two more, 
With Beading made Uneasy for a task, 
To weep, whilst all their mates in merry sunshine bask 

Like sportive Elfins, on the verdant sod. 
With tender moss so sleekly overgrown. 
That doth not hurt, but kiss, the sole unshod, 
So soothly kind is Erin to her own ! 
And one, at Hare and Hound, plays all alone, — 
For Phelim 's gone to tend his step-dame"s cow; 
Ah ! Phelim's step-dame is a cankered crone ! 
Whilst other twain play at an Irish row. 
And, with shillelah small, break one another's brow; 

But careful Dominie, with ceaseless thrift, 
Now changeth ferula for rural hoe ; 
But, first of all, with tender hand doth shift 
His college gown, because of solar glow. 
And hangs it on a bush, to scare the crow : 
Meanwhile, he plants in earth the dappled bean, 
Or trains the young potatoes all a-row. 



EPIGRAMS. 341 

Or plucks the fragrant leek for pottage green. 
With that crisp curly herb, called Kale in Aberdeen. 

And so he wisely spends the fruitful hours, 
Linked each to each by labor, like a bee, 
Or rules in Learning's hall, or trims her bowers ; — 
Would there were many more such wights as he, 
To sway each capital academic 
Of Cam and Isis ; for, alack ! at each 
There dwells I wot some dronish Dominie, 
That does no garden- work, nor yet doth teach. 
But wears a floury head, and talks in flowery speech I 



EPIGRAMS 
ON THE ART-UNIONS. 



That picture-raffles will conduce to nourish 
Design, or cause good Colorino; to flourish, 
Admits of logic-chopping and wise sawing. 
But surely Lotteries encourage Drawing ! 



THE SUPERIORITY OF MACHINERY. 

A IMECHANIC his labor will often discard 

K the rate of his pay he dislikes : 
But a clock — and its case is uncommonly hard 

Will continue to work though it strikes. 



o 



THE FORGE: 

A ROMANCE OF THE IRON AGE. 



*' Who 's here, beside foul weather ?" — King Lear. 

•' Mine enemy's dog, though he had bit me, 

Should have stood that night against my fire." — Cordklia. 



, PART I. 
Like a dead man gone to his shroud, 
The sun has sunk in a coppery cloud, 
And the wind is rising squallj and loud 

With many a stormy token, — 
Playing a wild funereal air, 
Through the branches bleak, bereaved, and bare, 
To the dead leaves dancing here and there — 

In short, if the truth were spoken, 
It 's an ugly one for anywhere. 

But an awful night for the Brocken. 

For, ! to stop 
On that mountain top, 
After the dews of evening drop, 

Is ahvays a dreary frolic — 
Then what must it be when Nature groans, 
And the very mountain murmurs and moans 

As if it writhed with the colic — 
With other strange supernatural tones. 
From wood, and water, and echoins; stones. 
Not to forget unburied bones — 

In a region so diabolic ! 
A place where he whom we call Old Scratch, 
By help of his Witches — a precious batch ^ 



THE FOKGiB. 343 

Gives midnight concerts and sermons, 
In a pulpit and orchestra built to match 
A plot right worthy of him to hatch, 
And well adapted, he knows, to catch 

The musical, mystical Germans ! 

However, it 's quite 
As wild a night 
As ever was known on that sinister height 

Since the Demon-Dance was morriced — 
The earth is dark, and the sky is scowling. 
And the blast through the pines is howling and growling 
As if a thousand wolves were prowling 
About in the old Black Forest ! 

Madly, sadly, the tempest raves 

Through the narrow gulleys and hollow cave« 

And bursts on the rocks in windy waves. 

Like the billows that roar 

On a gusty shore 
Mourning over the mariners' graves — 
Nay, more like a frantic lamentation 

From a howling set 

Of demons met 
To wake a dead relation. 

Badly, madly, the vapors fly 
Over the dark distracted sky. 

At a pace that no pen can paint ! 
Black and vague like the shadows of irearas 
Scudding over the moon that seems 
Shorn of half her usual beams. 

As pale as if she would faint ! 

The li<2;htninsi; flashes. 
The thunder crashes, 



^44 THE FORGE. 

The trees encounter with horrible clashes, 
While rolling up from marish and bog, 
Rank and rich, 
As from Stygian ditch, 
Rises a foul sulphureous fog, 
Hinting that Satan himself is agog, — 
But, leaving at once this heroical pitch, 
The night is a very bad night, in which 
You would n't turn out a dog. 

Yet ONE there is abroad in the storm, 

And whenever bj chance 

The moon gets a glance. 
She spies the traveller's lonely form, 
^ Walking, leaping, striding along, 

As none can do but the super-strong ; 
And flapping his arms to keep him warm. 
For the breeze from the north is a regular starver, 

And, to tell the truth, 

More keen, in sooth. 
And cutting\than any German carver ! 

However, no time it is to lag ; 
And on he scrambles from crag to crag, 
Like one determined never to flag — 
Now weathers a block 
Of jutting rock, 
With hardly room for a toe to wag ; 
But holding on by a timber-snag. 
That looks like the arm of a friendly hag ; 

Then stooping under a drooping bough, 
Or leaping over some horrid chasm. 
Enough to give any heart a spasm ! 

And sinking down a precipice now 
Keeping his feet the Deuce knows how, 



THE FORGE. 345 

In spots whence all creatures would keep aloof, 

Except the goat, with his cloven hoof, 

Who clings to the shallowest ledge as if 

He grew like the weed on the face of the cliff! 

So down, still down, the traveller goes, 

Safe as the chamois amid his snows. 

Though fiercer than ever the hurricane blows, 

And round him eddy, with whirl and whizz, 
Tornadoes of hail, and sleet, and rain, 
Enough to bewilder a weaker brain. 

Or blanch any other visage than his. 
Which, spite of lightning, thunder, and hail, 
The blinding sleet, and the freezing gale, 
And the horrid abyss. 
If his foot should miss, 
Instead of tending at all to pale, 
liike cheeks that feel the chill of affright — 
Remains — the very reverse of w^liite ! 

His heart is granite — his iron nerve 

Feels no convulsive tw^itches ; 
And as to his foot, it does not swerve, 
Thou2i:li the screech-owls are flittinoj about him that serve 

Eor parrots to Brocken Witches .* 

Nay, full in his very path he spies 

The gleam of the wehr wolf's horrid eyes : 

But if his members quiver — 
It is not for that — no, it is not for that — 
Nor rat, nor cat, as black as your hat, 
Nor the snake that hissed, nor the toad that spat, 
Nor glimmering candles of dead men's fat, 
Nor even the flap of the vampire bat, 
No anserine skin would rise thereat, 

It 's the cold that makes Him shiver ! 



346 THE FOliGE. 

So down, still clown, through gullj and glen, 
Never trodden by foot of men, 
Past the eagle's nest, and the she-wolf's den, 
Never caring a jot how steep 
Or how narrow the track he has to keep, 
Or how wide and deep 
An abyss to leap. 
Or what may fly, or walk, or creep, 
Down he hurries through darkness and storm, 
Flapping his arms to keep him warm — 
Till, threading many a pass abhorrent, 

At last he reaches the mountain gorge. 
And takes a path along by a torrent — 
The very identical path, by St. George ! 
Down which young Fridolin went to the Forge, 
With a message meant for his ow^n death-warrant ! 

Young Fridolin ! young Fridolin ! 
So free from sauce, and sloth, and sin, 
The best of pages. 
Whatever their ages. 
Since first that sino-ular fashion came in — 
Not he like those modern and idle young gluttona 
With little jackets, so smart and spruce, 
Of Lincoln green, sky-blue, or puce — 
And a little gold-lace you may introduce — 
Yery showy, but as? for use, 
Not worth so many buttons ! 

Young Fridolin ! young Fridolin ! 

Of his duty so true a fulfiller — 
"But here we need no further go, 
For whoever desires the tale to kno^ 

May read it all in Schiller. 

Faster now the traveller speeds. 

Whither his suidins: beacon leads, 



THE FORGE. 347 

For by 3'onden glare 
In the murky air, 
He kncAvs that the Eisen Hutte is there ! 

AVith its sooty Cyclops, savage and grim, 
Hosts a guest had better forbear, 
Whose thoughts are set uix)n dainty fare — 
But, stiff with cold in every limb, 
The furnace fire is the bait for Him ! 

Faster and faster still he 2;oes, 

Whilst redder and redder the welkin glows, 

And the lowest clouds that scud in the sky 

Get crimson fringes in flitting by. 

Till, lo ! amid the lurid light. 

The darkest object intensely dark, 
Just where the bright is intensely bright, 
The Foro-e, the Foro-e itself is in sidit, 

CD > O O ' 

Like the pitch-black hull of a burning bark, 
With volleying smoke, and many a spark. 
Vomiting fire, red, yellow, and white ! 

Restless, quivering tongues of flame ! 
Heavenward striving still to go. 
While others, reversed in the stream below. 
Seem seeking a place we will not name, 
But well that traveller knows the same, 
Who stops and stands, 
So rubbing his hands, 
And snuffino- the rare 
Perfumes in the air. 
For old familiar odors are there, 
And then direct by the shortest cut, 
Like xVlpine marmot, whom neitlier rut^ 
Rivers, rocks, nor thickets rebut, 
Makes his Avay to the blazing hut ! 



348 THE FORGE. 



PART II. 



Idlj watching the furnace-flames, 
The men of the stithj 
Are in their smithy, 
Brutal monsters, with bulky frames, 
Beings Humanity scarcely claims, 
But hybrids rather of demon race, 
Unblessed by the holy rite of grace, 
Who never had gone by Christian names, 
Mark, or Matthew, Peter, or James — 
Naked, foul, unshorn, unkempt. 
From touch of natural shame exempt. 
Things of which Delirium has dreamt ~r 
But wherefore dwell on these verbal sketches, 
When traced with frightful truth and vigor, 
Costume, attitude, face, and figure, 
Retsch has drawn the very w^retches ! 

However, there they lounge about, 
The grim, gigantic fellows, 

Hardly hearing the storm without, 
That makes so very dreadful a rout, 
For the constant roar 
From the furnace door. 
And the blast of the monstrous bellows ! 

0, what a scene 
That Forge had been 
For Salvator Rosa's study ! 
With wall, and beam, and post, and pin. 
And those ruffianly creatures, like Shapes of Sin ! 
Hair, and eyes, and rusty skin ; 
Illumed by a light so ruddy. 
The hut, and whatever there is therein. 
Looks either red-hot or bloody ! 



THE FORGE. 349 

And, ! to hear the frequent burst 
Of stransre extravao;ant lau(2:hter, 
Harsh and hoarse, 
And resounding perforce 
From echoing roof and rafter ! 
Though curses, the worst 
That ever were curst. 
And threats that Cain invented the first, 
Come growling the instant after ! 

But again the livelier peal is rung, 

For the Smith-hight Salamander, 
In the jargon of some Titanic tongue, 
Elsewhere never said or sung, 
With the voice of a Stentor in joke has flung 
Some cumbrous sort 
Of sledge-hammer retort 
At Red-Beard, the crew's commander. 

Some frightful jest — who knows how wild, 
Or obscene, from a monster so defiled, 
And a horrible mouth, of such extent, 
From flapping ear to ear it went. 
And showed such tusks whenever it smiled — • 
The very mouth to devour a child ! 

But fair or foul, the jest gives birth 
To another bellow of demon mirth, 

That far outroars the weather, 
As if all the hyenas that prowl the earth 

Had clubbed their laughs together ! 

And, lo ! in the middle of all the din. 
Not seeming to care a single pin, 

For a prospect so volcanic, 
A stranger steps abruptly in, 



850 THE FORGE. 

Of an aspect ratlicr Satanic : 
And lie looks, with a grin, at those Cyclops grim, 
Who stare and grin again at him 

With wondrous little panic. 

Then up to the furnace the stranger goes, 
Eager to. thaw his cars and nose, 

And warm his frozen fingers and toes — 
While each succeeding minute 
Hotter and hotter the smithy grows, 
And seems to declare, 
By a fiercer glare, 
On wall, roof, floor, and everywhere, 
It knows the Devil is in it ! 

Still not a word 

Is uttered or heard. 
But the beetle-browed foreman nods and wmks, 
Much as a shaggy old lion blinks, 

And makes a shift 

To impart his drift 
To a smoky brother, who, joining the links, 
Hints to a third the thing he thinks ; 

And whatever it be. 

They all agree 

In smiling with faces full of glee, 
As if about to enjoy high jinks. 

What sort of tricks they mean to play 
By way of diversion, who can say, 
Of such ferocious and barbarous folk, 
Who chuckled, indeed, and never spoke 
Of burnino; Robert the Ja2;er to coke, 
Except as a capital practical joke ! 

Who never thought of Mercy, or heard her, 
Or any gentle emotion felt ; 



THE FORGE. 351 

But, hard as the iron thej had to melt, 

Sported with Danger and romped with Murder ! 

Meanwhile the stranger, — 

The Brocken Ranger, 
Besides another and hotter post, 
That renders him not averse to a roast, — 
Creeping into the furnace almost, 
Has made himself as warm as a toast — 

When, unsuspicious of any danger, 
And least of all of any such ma2;o;ot 
As treating his body like a fagot. 
All at once he is seized and shoven 

In pastime cruel. 

Like so much fuel. 
Headlong into the blazing oven ! 

In he goes ! with a frightful shout 
Mocked by the rugged ruffianly band, 
As round the furnace mouth they stand, 
Bar, and shovel, and ladle in hand. 

To hinder their butt from craAvling out. 
Who, making one fierce attempt, but vain. 

Receives such a blow 

From Red-Beard's crow 
As crashes the skull and gashes the brain. 
And blind, and dizzy, and stunned with pain, 

With merely an intcrjectional ! 
Back he rolls in the flames again. 
" Ha ! Ha ! Ho ! Ho ! " That second fall 
Seems the very best joke of all, 

To judge by the roar. 

Twice as loud as before, 
That fills the hut from the roof to the floor, 
And flies a leao;uc or two out of the door, 



352 THE FORGE. 

Up the mountain and over the moor — 
But scarcely the jolly echoes they wake 
Have well begun 
To take up the fun, 
Ere the shaggy felons have cause to quake, 

And begin to feel that the deed they have done. 
Instead of being a pleasant one, 
Was a very great error — and no mistake. 

Eor why 7 — in lieu 
Of its former hue, 
So natural, warm, and florid, 
The furnace burns of brimstone blue, 
And instead of the couleur de rose it threw, 
With a cooler reflection, — justly due — 
Exhibits each of the Pagan crew, 

Livid, ghastly and horrid ! 
But vainly they close their guilty eyes 

Against prophetic fears ; 
Or with hard and horny palms devise 
To dam their enormous ears — 

There are sounds in the air, 
Not here or there, 
Irresistible voices everywhere. 
No bulwarks can ever rebut, 

And to match the screams. 
Tremendous gleams, 
Of horrors that like the phantoms of dreams 

They see with their eyelids shut ; 
For awful coveys of terrible things, 
With forked tongues and venomous stings, 
On hagweed, broomsticks, and leathern wingg, 
Are hovering round the hut ! 



THE FORGE. 853 

Shapes ! that within the focus bright 

Of the Forge, are like shadows and blots • 
But further off. in the shades of night, 
Clothed with their own phosphoric light, 

Are seen in the darkest spots. 
Sounds ! tliat fill the air with noises, 
Strange and indescribable voices, 
From hags, in a diabolical clatter — 
Cats that spit curses, and apes that chatter 
Scraps of cabal istical matter — 

Owls that screech, and dogs that yell — 
Skeleton hounds that Avill never be fatter — 

All the domestic tribes of Hell, 
Shrieking for flesh to tear and tatter, 
Bones to shatter. 
And limbs to scatter, 
And who it is that must furnish the latter 

Those blue-looking men kno\Y well ! 
Those blue-looking men that huddle together, 
For all their sturdy limbs and thews. 
Their unshorn locks, like Nazarene Jews, 
And buffalo beards, and hides of leather, 
Huddled all in a heap together, 
Like timid lamb, and ewe, and wether 
And as females say. 
In a similar way. 
Fit for knockino; down with a feather ! 

In and out, in and out. 
The gathering goblins hover about, 
Every minute augmenting the rout ; 
For like a spell 
The unearthly smell 
That fumes from the furnace, chimney and mouth, 

23 



SS'i THE FORGE. 

Draws them in — an infernal legion — 
From East, and West, and North, and South, 
Like cai-rion birds from every region, 

Till not a yard square 

Of the sickening air 
But has a Demon or two for its share, 
Breathing furj, woe, and despair. 
Never, never was such a sight ! 
It beats the very Walpurgis Night, 
Displayed in the story of Doctor Faustus ; 

For the scene to describe, 

Of the awful tribe, 
If we were tico Gothes would quite exhaust us I 
Suffice it, amid that dreary swarm, 
There musters each foul repulsive form 
That ever a fancy overwarm 

Begot in its worst delirium : 
Besides some others of monstrous size, 
Never before revealed to eyes. 
Of the genus Megatherium ! 

Meanwhile the demons, filthy and foul, 
Gorgon, Chimera, Harpy, and Ghoul, 
Are not contented to gibber and howl 

As a dirge for their late commander ; 
But one of the bevy — witch or wizard. 
Disguised as a monstrous flying lizard, 

Springs on the grisly Salamander, 
Who stoutly fights, and struggles, and kicks, 
And tries the best of his wrestling tricks, — 
No paltry strife, 
But for life, dear life,— 
But the ruthless talons refuse to unfix. 

Till, fiir beyond a surgical case, 

With starting eye,3 and black in tlie face. 



THE FORGE. 356 

Down he tumbles as dead as bricks ! 
A pretty sight for his mates to view ! 
Those shaggy murderers looking so blue 
And for him above all, 
Red-bearded and tall, 
With whom, at that very particular nick, 
There is such an unlucky crow to pick. 
As the one of iron that did the trick 

In a recent bloody affair — 
No wonder, feeling a little sick, 
With pulses beating uncommonly quick, 
And breath he never found so thick, 

He longs for the open air ! 

Three paces, or four. 
And he gains the door ; 
But ere he accomplishes one, 
The sound of a blow comes, heavy and dull, 
And, clasping his fingers round his skull. 
However the deed was done. 

That gave him that florid 
Red gash on the forehead — 
With a roll of the eyeballs perfectly horrid, 
There 's a tremulous quiver, 
The last death-shiver, 
And Red-Beard's course is run ! 

Halloo ! Halloo ! 
They have done for two ! 
But a heavyish job remains to do ! 

For yonder, sledge and shovel in hand, 
Like elder Sons of Giant Despair, 

A couple of Cyclops make a stand, 
And, fiercely hammering here and there, 
Keep at bay the Powers of Air — 



356 THE FORGE. 

But desperation is all in vain I — 

Thej faint — tliej choke. 

For the sulphurous smoke 
Is poisoning heart, and lung, and brain ; 
They reel, they sink, they gasp, they smother ; 
One for a moment survives his brother. 
Then rolls a corpse across the other ! 

Hulloo! Hulloo! 

And Hullabaloo ! 
There is only one mt)re thing to do — 
And, seized by beak, and talon, and claw, 
Bony hand, and hairy paw, 
Yea, crooked horn, and tusky jaw. 
The four huge bodies are hauled and shoven 
Each after each in the roaring oven ! 

j/^ AL. -ii, ^ 

•Tv* -TV -Tt- -T^ 

The Eisen Hutte is standing still ; 

Go to the Hartz whenever you will, 

And there it is beside a hill. 

And a rapid stream that turns many a mill ; 

The self-same Forge, — you '11 know it at sight — • 

Casting upward, day and night. 

Flames of red, and yellow, and white ! 

Ay, half a mile from the mountain gorge. 

There it is, the famous Forge, 

With its furnace, — the same that blazed of yore, - 

Hugely fed with fuel and ore ; 

But ever since that tremendous revel, 
Whatever iron is melted therein, — 
As travellers know who have been to Berlin. — 

Is all as black as the Devil ! 



TO . 357 

TO . 

COMPOSED AT ROTTERDAM. 

I GAZE upon a city, — a city new and strange ; 
Down many a watery vista my fancy takes a range : 
From side to side I saunter, and wonder where I am • 
And can yoii be in England, and /at Rotterdam ! 

Before me lie dark waters in broad canals and deep, 
Whereon the silver moonbeams sleep, restless in their sleep ; 
A sort of vulgar Venice reminds me Avhere I am ; 
Yes, yes, you are in England, and I 'm at Rotterdam. 

Tall houses with quaint gables, where frequent windows shino, 
And quays that lead to bridges, and trees in formal line, 
A.nd masts of spicy vessels from western Surinam, 
All tell me you 're in England, but I 'm in Rotterdam. 

Those sailors, how outlandish the face and form of each ! 
They deal in foreign gestures, and use a foreign speech ; 
A tongue not learned near Isis, or studied by the Cam, 
Declares that you 're in England, and I'm at Rotterdam. 

And now across a market my doubtful Avay I trace, 
Where stands a solemn statue, the Genius of the place ; 
And to the great Erasmus I oifer my salaam ; 
Wlio tells me you 're in England, but I 'm at Rotterdam. 

Tlie coffee-room is open — I mingle in its crowd, — 
Tlie dominos are noisy — the hookahs raise a cloud , 
The flavor now of Fearon's, that mingles with my dram, 
Reminds me you 're in England, and I "m at Rotterdam. 

Then here it goes, a bumper — the toast it shall be mine, 
In scliiedam, or in sherry, tokay, or hock of Rhine ; 
It well deserves the brightest, where sunbeam ever swam — 
" The Girl I love in England " I drink at Rotterdam ! 

March, 1835. 



ii58 THE SEASON. — LOVE. 



THE SEASON. 



Summer 's gone and over ! 

Foots are fallino; down ; 
And with russet tinges 

Autumn 's doino; brown. 

Boughs are daily rifled 
By the gusty thieves, 

And the Book of Nature 
Getteth short of leaves. 

Round the tops of houses, 
Swallows, as they flit. 

Give, like yearly tenants, 
Notices to quit. 

Skies, of fickle temper, 

Weep by turns, and laugh-- 

Night and Day together 
Takino- half-and-half. 

So September endeth — 
Cold, and most perverse — 

But the month that follows ' 
Sure will pinch us worse ! 



LOVE. 

0, Love ! what art thou, Love ? the ace of hearts, 
Trumping earth's kings and queens, and all its suits ; 

A player, masquerading many parts 

In life's odd carnival ; — a boy that shoots. 

Fi^om ladies' eyes, such mortal woundy darts ; 
A gardener, pulling heart' s-ease up by the roots j 

The Puck of Passion — partly false — part real — 

A marriageable maiden's " beau ideal " '? 



FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN. 359 

0, Love ! what art tliou, Love 1 a wicked thing, 
Making green misses spoil their work at school : 

A melancholy man, cross-gartering ! 

Grave ripe-faced Wisdom made an April fool 7 

A youngster, tilting at a wedding-ring 7 
A sinner, sitting on a cuttie-stool I 

A Ferdinand de Something in a liovel. 

Helping Matilda Hose to make a novel I 

0, Love ! Avhat art tliou. Love .' one that is bad 
With palpitations of the heart — like mine — 

A poor bewildered maid, making so sad 
A necklace of her starters — fell desim ! 

A poet, gone unreasonably mad. 

Ending his sonnets with a hempen line 7 

0, Love ! — but whither, noAV 7 forgive me, pray ; 

I 'm not the first that Love hath led astray. 



FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN. 

AN OLD BALLAD. 

Young Ben he was a nice young man, 

A carpenter by trade ; 
And he fell in love with Sally Brown, 

That was a lady's maid. 

But as they fetclied a walk one day, 

They met a press-gang crew ; 
\.nd Sally she did faint away, 
Whilst Ben he was brought to. 

The boatswain swore witli wicked words, 

Enough to shock a saint, 
That though she did seem in a fit, 

'T was nothinoj but a feint. 



360 FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN. 

'' Come. gii'V said he, " bold up your head, 

He '11 be as good as me ; 
For when your swain is in our boat, 

A boatswain he will be." 

So when they 'd made their game of her, 

And taken off her elf, 
She roused, and found she only was 

A coming to herself. 

*' And is he gone, and is he gone 7 " 
She cried, and wept outright : 

" Then I w^ill to the water side, 
And see him out of sight." 

A waterman came up to her, — - 
"Now, young woman," said he, 

" If you weep on so, you will make 
Eye- water in the sea." 

'' Alas ! they 've taken my beau, Ben, 

To sail with old Benbow ; " 
And her woe began to run afresh, 

As if she 'd said, Gee woe ! 

Says he, " They 've only taken him 
To the Tender-ship, you see ; " 

"The Tender-ship," cried Sally Brown, 
" What a hard-ship that must be ! 

" ! would I were a mermaid now. 

For then I 'd follow him ; 
But, ! — I'm not a fish- woman, 

And so I cannot swim. 

" Alas ! I was not born beneath 

The virgin and the scales, 
$0 I must curse my cruel stars^ 

Arid walk about in Wales." 



bianga's dream. 361 

!Now Ben had sailed to many a place 

That 's underneath the world ; 
But in two years the ship came home, 

And all her sails were furled. 

But when he called on Sally Brown, 

To see how she got on, 
lie found she 'd got another Ben, 

Whose Christian name was John. 

*'0, Sally Brown, 0, Sally Brown, 

How could you. serve me so 7 
I 've met with many a breeze before, 

But never such a blow ! " 

Then reading on his 'bacco-box, 

He heaved a heavy sigh. 
And then began to eye his pipe, 

And then to pipe his eye. 

And then he tried to sing •' All 's Well," 

But could not, though he tried ; 
His head was turned, and so he chewed 

His pigtail till he died. 

His death, which happened in his berth, 

At forty-odd befell : 
They went and told the sexton, and 

The sexton tolled the bell. 



BIANCA'S DREAM. 

A VENETIAN STORY- 

BlANCA ! — fair Bianca ! — who could dwell 
With safety on her dark and hazel gaze, 

Nor find there lurked in it a witching spell, 
Fatal to balmy nights and blessed days 1 



362 BIANCA'S DK7UM. 

The peaceful breath that made the lx)som swell 

She turned to gas, and set it in a blaze ; 
Each eye of hers had Love's Eupyrion in it, 
That he could light his link at in a minute. 

So that, wherever in her charms she shone, 
A thousand breasts were kindled into flame ; 

Maidens who cursed her looks forgot their own, 

And beaux were turned to flambeaux where she came 

All hearts indeed were conquered but her own, 
Which none could ever temper down or tame : 

In short, to take our haberdasher's hints, 

She might have written over it, — " From Flints." 

She was, in truth, the wonder of her sex, 

At least in Venice — where with eves of browA 

Tenderly languid, ladies seldom vex 

An amorous gentle Avith a needless frown ; 

Where gondolas convey guitars by pecks, 

And love at casements climbeth up and down, 

Whom, for his tricks and custom in that kind, 

Some have considered a Venetian blind. 

Howbeit, this difference was quickly taught, 
Amongst more youths who had this cruei jaile> 

To hapless Julio — all in vain he sought 

With each new moon his hatter and his tailor • 

In vain the richest padusoy he bought. 

And went in bran-new beaver to assail her — 

As if to show that Love had made him smart 

All over — and not merelv round his heart. 

In vain he labored through the sylvan park 
Bianca haunted in — that where she came 

Her learned eyes in wandering might mark 
The twisted cipher of her maiden name, 



bianca's dream. 863 

Wholesomely going through a course of bark : 

No one Avas touched or trouljled by his fiamo, 
Except the Dryads, those old maids that grow 
In trees, — like -svooden dolls in embryo. 

In vain complaining elegies he writ, 

And taught his tuneful instrument to grieve, 

And sang in quavers how his heart was split, 
Constant beneath her lattice with each eve ; 

She mocked his wooing with her wicked wit, 

And slashed his suit so that it matched his sleeve, 

Till he grew silent at the vesper star, 

And, quite despairing, hamstringed his guitar. 

Bianca's heart was coldly frosted o'er 

With snows unmelting — an eternal sheet ; 

But his was red within him, like the core 
Of old Vesuvius, with perpetual heat ; 

And oft he longed internally to pour 
His flames and glowing lava at her feet. 

But when his burnings he began to spout. 

She stopped his mouth, and put the crater out. 

Meanwhile he wasted in the eyes of men. 
So thin, he seemed a sort of skeleton-key 

Suspended at Death's door — so pale — and then 
He turned as nervous as an aspon-tree ; 

The life of man is three-score years and ten, 
But he was perishing at twenty-three. 

For people truly said, as grief grew stronger, 

" It could not shorten his poor life — much longer." 

For why, he neither slept, nor drank, nor fed, 
Nor relished any kind of mirth below ; 

Fire in his heart, and frenzy in his head, 
Love had become his universal foe, 



36-1: bianca's dream. 



Salt in his ^«ig?ir — nightmare in his bed, 



At last, no Avondcr wretched Julio, 
A sorrow-ridden xhmg, in utter dearth 
Of hope, — made up his mind to cut her girth ! 

For hapless lovers always died of old, 
Sooner than chew reflection's bitter cud ; 

So Thisbe stuck herself, what time 'tis told 
The tender-hearted mulberries wept blood : 

Aud so poor Sappho, when her boy was cold, 
Drowned her salt tear-drops in a salter flood, 

Their fame still breathing, though their breath be past, 

For those old suitors lived beyond their last. 

So Julio went to drown, — when life was dull, 
But took his corks, and merely had a bath ; 

And once, he pulled a trigger at his skull, 
But merely broke a window in his wrath ; 

And once, his hopeless being to annul, 
He tied a pack-thread to a beam of lath, 

A line so ample, 't was a query whether 

'T was meant to be a halter or a tether. 

Smile not in scorn, that Julio did not thrust 
His sorrows through — 't is horrible to die ; 

And come down with our little all of dust. 
That dun of all the duns to satisfy ; 

To leave life's pleasant city as we must. 

In Death's most dreary sponging-house to lie, 

Where even all our personals must go 

To pay the debt of nature that we owe ! 

So Julio lived : — 'twas nothing but a pet 

He took at life — a momentary spite ; 
Besides, he hoped that time would some day get 
The better of love's flame, however bright. 



bianca's dream. 365 

A thing that time has never compassed vet, 
For love, we know, is an immortal light. 
Like that old fire, that, quite bevond a doubt. 
Was always in, — for none have found it out. 

Meanwhile, Bianca dreamed — 'twas once when night 
Along the darkened plain began to creep, 

Like a young Hottentot, whose eyes are bright, 
Although in skin as sooty as a sweep : 

The flowers had shut their eyes — the zophyr light 
Was gone, for it had rocked the leaves to sleep. 

And all the little birds had laid their heads 

Under their wings — sleeping in feather beds. 

Lone in her chamber sate the dark-eyed maid, 
By easy stages jaunting through her prayeis, 

But listening side long to a serenade, 

That robbed the saints a little of their shares , 

For Julio underneath the lattice played 
His Deh Vieni, and such amorous airs, 

Born only underneath Italian skies, 

Where every fiddle has a Bridge of Sighs. 

Sweet was the tune — the words were even sweeter, 
Praising her eyes, her lips, her nose, her hair. 

With all the common tropes wherewith in metre 
The hackney poets overcharge their fair. 

Her shape was like Diana's, but completer ; 

Her brow Avith Grecian Helen's might compare. 

Cupid, alas ! was cruel Sagittarius, 

Julio — the weeping waterman Aquarius. 

Now, after listing to such landings rare, 

'T was very natural indeed to go — 
What if she did postpone one little prayer ! — 

To ask her mirror ' if it was not so ? ' 



3G6 bianca's dream. 

'T was a large mirror, none the worse for T^ar, 

Keflecting her at once froon top to toe : 
And there she gazed upon that glossy track. 
That showed her front fice, though it "gave her back." 

And long her lovely eyes were held in thrall, 
By that dear page where first the woman reads : 

That Julio was no flatterer, none at all, 

She told herself — and then she told her beads ; 

Meanwhile, the nerves insensibly let fall 
Two curtains fairer than the lily breeds ; 

Por sleep had crept and kissed her unawares, 

Just at the half-way milestone of her prayers. 

Then like a drooping rose so bended she, 

Till her bowed head upon her hand reposed ; 

But still she plainly saw, or seemed to see, 

That fair reflection, though her eyes w^ere closed, 

A beauty bright, as it was wont to be, 

A portrait Fancy painted while she dozed : 

'T is very natural, some people say, 

To dream of what we dwell on^in the day. 

Still shone her face — yet not, alas ! the same, 

But 'gan some dreary touches to assume, 
And sadder thoughts with sadder changes came — 

Her eyes resigned thci>' light, her lips their bloom, 
Her teeth fell out, her tresses did the same. 

Her cheeks were tinged with bile, her eyes with rheuua ; 
There was a throbbing -at her heart within, 
For, ! there was a shooting in her chin. 

And, lo ! upon her sad desponding brow 
The cruel trenches of bcsief^'ino; a2;e, 

7 

With seams, but most unseemly, 'gan to show 
Her place was booking for the seventh stage : 



biaxca's dream. 867 

And where her raven tresses used to flow. 



J 



Some locks that time had left her in his rage, 
And some mock ringlets, made her forehead shady, 
A compound (like our Psalms) of tete and braidy. 

Then for her shape — alas! how Saturn wrecks. 
And bends, and corkscrews all the frame about. 

Doubles the hams, and crooks the straightest necks, 
Draws in the nape, and pushes forth the snout, 

Makes backs and stomachs concave or convex : 
Witness those pensioners called In and Out, 

Who, all day watching first and second rater, 

Quaintly unbend themselves — but grow no straightei 

So time with fair Bianca dealt, and made 

Her shape a bow, that once was like an arrow ; 

His iron hand upon her spine he laid, 

And twisted all awry her " winsome marrow." 

In truth it was a change ! — she had obeyed 
The holy Pope before her chest grew narrow, 

But spectacles and palsy seemed to make her 

Something between a Glassite and a Quaker. 

Her grief and gall meanv/hile were quite extreme, 
And she had ample reason for her trouble ; 

For what sad maiden can endure to seem 

Set in for singleness, though growing double 7 

The foncy maddened her ; but now the dream, 
Grown thin by getting bigger, like a bubble. 

Burst, — but still left some fragments of its size, 

That, like the soap-suds, smarted, in her eyes. 

And here — just here — as she began to heed 
The real world, her clock chimed out its score ; 

A clock it was of the Venetian breed, 

That cried the hour from one to twenty-four j 



368 - BIANCA'S DREAM. 

The works moreover standing in some need 

Of workmanship, it struck some dozens more ; 
A warning voice that clenched Bianca's fears, 
Such strokes referring doubtless to her years. 

At fifteen chimes she was but half a nun, 
By tAventy she had quite renounced the veil ; 

She thought of Julio just at twenty-one, 
And thirty made her very sad and pale, 

To paint that ruin where her charms would run ; 
At forty all the maid began to fail, 

And thought no higher, as the late dream crossed her, 

Of single blessedness, than single Gloster. 

And so Bianca changed ; — the next sweet even, 

With Julio in a black Venetian bark, 
Rowed slow and stealthily — the hour, eleven. 

Just sounding from the tower old St. Mark, 
She sate with eyes turned quietly to heaven, 

Perchance rejoicing in the grateful dark 
That veiled her blushino; cheek, — for Julio brought her 
Of course — to break the ice upon the water. 

But what a puzzle is one's serious mind 
To open ! — oysters, when the ice is thick. 

Are not so difficult and disinclined ; 
And Julio felt the declaration stick 

About his throat in a most awful kind; 
However, he contrived by bits to pick 

His trouble forth, — much like a rotten cork 

Groped from a long-necked bottle with a fork. 

But Love is still the quickest of all readers ; 

And Julio spent, besides those signs profuse 
That English telegraphs and foreign pleaders, 

In help of language, are so apt to use, 



bianca's dream. 369 

Arms, shoulders, fingers, all were interceders, 

Nods, shriio;s and bends, — Bianca could not choose 
But soften to his suit with more facility, 
He told his story with so much agility. 

•' Be thou my park, and I will be thy dear, 
(So he began at last to speak or quote;) 

Be thou my bark, and I thy gondolier, 
(For passion takes this figurative note ;) 

Be thou my light, and I thy chandelier; 
Be thou my dove, and I will be thy cote ; 

My lily be, an<.l I Avill be thy river ; 

Be thou my life — and I will be thy liver." 

This, with more tender logic of the kind, 
He poured into her small and shell-like ear, 

That timidly against his lips inclined : 

Meanwhile her eyes glanced on the silver sphere 

That even now began to steal behind 

A dewy vapor, which w^as lingering near, 

Wherein the dull moon crept all dim and pale, 

Just like a virgin putting on the veil : — 

Bidding adieu to all her sparks — the stars, 

That erst had wooed and worshipped in her train, 

Saturn and Hesperus, and gallant Mars — • 
Never to flirt with heavenly eyes again. 

Meanwhile, remindful'of the convent bars, 
Bianca did not watch these signs in vain, 

But turned to Julio at the dark eclipse. 

With words, hke verbal kisses, on her lips. 

He took the hint full speedily, and, backed 

By love, and night, and the occasion's meetness, 

Bestowed a something on her cheek that smacked 
(Though quite in silence) of ambrosial sweetness ; 

That made her think all other kisses lacked. 

24 



370 OVER THE WAY. 



m 



ill then, but what she knew not, of completeness • 

Being used but sister! j salutes tc feel, 
Insipid things — like sandwiches of veal. 

He took her hand, and soon she felt him wring 
The pretty fingers all, instead of one ; 

Anon his stealthy arm began to cling 

About her waist that had been clasped by none ; 

Their dear confessions I forbear to sing, 

Since cold description waald but be outrun ; 

For bliss and Irish watches have the power 

In twenty minutes to lose half an hour ! 



. OVER THE WAY. 

"1 sat over against a window where there stood a pot with very pretty 
flowers ; and had my eyes fixed on it, when on a sudden the window opened, 
and a young lady appeared whose beauty struck me." — Akabian Nights. 

Alas ! the flames of an unhappy lover 
About my heart and on my vitals prey ; 
I've caught a fever that I can't get over, 

Over the way ! 

' wdiy are eyes of hazel 1 noses Grecian ? 

1 've lost my rest by night, my peace by day, 
For want of some brown Holland or Venetian, 

Over the way ! 

I 've gazed too often, till my heart 's as lost 
As any needle in a stack of hay : 
Crosses belong to love, and mine is crossed 

Over the way ! 

I cannot read or write, or thoughts relax — 
Of what avail Lord Althorpe or Earl Grey 1 
They cannot ease me of my window-tax 

Over the way.' 



OVER THE WAY. 371 

Even on Sunday mj devotions vary, 
And from St. Bennet Flint they go astray 
To dear St. Mary Overy — the Mary 

Over the way ! 

! if my godmother were but a fairy, 
With magic wand, how I would beg and pray 
That she would change me into that canary 

Over the way ! 

1 envy everything that 's near Miss Lindo, 
A pug, a poll, a squirrel or a jay — 

Blest blue-bottles ! that buzz about the window 

Over the way ! 

Even at even, for there be no shutters, 
I see her reading on, from grave to gay, 
Some tale or poem, till the candle gutters, 

Over the way ! 

And then — ! then — while the clear waxen taper 
Emits, two stories high, a starlike ray, 
I see twelve auburn curls put into paper 

Over the way ! 

But how breathe unto her my deep regards, 
Or ask her for a whispered ay or nay, — 
Or offer her my hand, some thirty yards 

Over the way ! 

Cold as the pole she is to my adoring ; — 
Like Captain Lyon, at Repulse's Bay, 
I meet an icy end to my exploring 

Over the way ! 

Each dirty little Savoyard that dances 
She looks on — Punch — or chimney-sweeps in May ; 
Zounds ! wherefore cannot I attract her glances 

Over the way ! 



372 OVER THE WAY. 

Half out she leans to watch a tumbling brat, 
Or yelping cur, run over by a dray ; 
But I 'm in love — she never pities that ! 

Over the way ' 

I go to the same church — a love-lost labor ; 
Haunt all her walks, and dodge her at the play ; 
She does not seem to know she has a neighbor 

Over the way ! 

At private theatres she never acts ; 
No Crown-and- Anchor balls her fancy sway ; 
She never visits gentlemen with tracts 

Over the way ! 

To billets-doux by post she shows no favor — 
In short, there is no plot that I can lay 
To break my window-pains to my enslaver 

Over the way ! 

I play the flute — she heeds not my chroma-tics — 
No friend an introduction can purvey ; 
I wish a fire would break out in the attics 

Over the way ! 

My wasted form ought of itself to touch her ; 
My baker feels my appetite's decay ; 
And as for butcher's meat — ! she 's my butcher 

Over the way ! 

At beef I turn ; at lamb or veal I pout ; 
I never ring now to bring up the tray ; 
My stomach grumbles at my dining out 

Over the way ! 

I 'm weary of my life ; without regret 
I could resign this miserable clay 
To lie within that box of mignonette 

Over the way ! 



OVER THE WAY. 373 

I 't-^ «tted bullets to mj pistol-bore ; 
I 've vowed at times to rush Avhere trumpets bray, 
Quite sick of Number One — and Number Four 

Over the way ! 

Sometimes my fancy builds up castles airy. 
Sometimes it only paints a ferme ornee, 
A horse — a cow — six fowls — a pig — and Mary, 

Over the way ! 

Sometimes I dream of her in bridal white, 
Standing before the altar, like a fiy ; 
Sometimes of balls, and neighborly invite 

Over the Avay ! 

I 've cooed with her in dreams, like any turtle ; 
I 've snatched her from the Clyde, the Tweed, and Tay ; 
Thrice I have made a grove of that one myrtle 

Over the way ! 

Thrice I have rowed her in a fairy shallop. 
Thrice raced to Grretna in a neat "po-shay," 
And showered croAvns to make the horses gallop 

Over the way ! 

And thrice I 've started up from dreams appalling 
Of killing rivals in a bloody fray — 
There is a young man very fond of calling 

Over the way ! 

! happy man — above all kings in glory, 
Whoever in her ear may say his say. 
And add a tale of love to that one story 

Over the way ! 

Nabob of Arcot — Despot of Japan — 
Sultan of Persia — Emperor of Cathay — • 
Much rather would I be the happy man 

Over the way I 



374 EPICUREAN IlEMIXTSCENCKS. 

With such a lot 1113^ heart avouIcT be in clover 
But what — O, horror ! — what do I survey ! 
Postilions and white favors ! — all is over 

Over the way ! 



EPICUREAN REMINISCENCES OF A SENTIMENTALIST. 

'•' My Tables ! Meat it is, I set it down I " — Hamlet. 

1 THINK it was Spring — but not certain I am — 

When my passion began first to w^ork ; 
But I know we were certainly looking for lamb. 

And the season was over for pork. 

'T was at Christmas, I think, when I met with Miss Chase, 
Yes, — lor Morris had asked me to dine, — 

And I thought I had never beheld such a face, 
Or so noble a turkey and chine. 

Placed close by her side, it made others quite wild 

With sheer envy to witness my luck ; 
How she blushed as I gave her some turtle, and smiled 

As I afterwards offered some duck. 

I looked and I languished, alas ! to my cost, 
Through three courses of dishes and meats ; 

Getting deeper in love — but my heart was quite lost, 
When it came to the trifle and sweets ! 

With a rent-roll that told of my houses and land, 

To her parents I told my designs — 
And then to herself I presented my hand, 

With a very fine pottle of pines ! 

I asked her to have me for weal or for woe, 

And she did not object in the least ; — 
I can't tell the date — but we married, I know, 

Just in time to have game at the feast. 



EPICUREAN REMINISCENCES. 375 

We went to , it certainly was the sea-side ; 

For the next, the most blessed of morns, 
I remember how fondly I gazed at my bride, 

Sitting down to a plateful of prawns. 

Oj never may memory lose sight of thai year. 

But still hallow the time as it ouo-ht ! 
That season the "grass " was remarkably dear, 

And the peas at a guinea a quart. 

So happy, like hours, all our days seemed to haste. 

A fond pair, such as poets have drawn. 
So united in heart — so congenial in taste —- 

We were both of us partial to brawn ! 

A long life I looked for of bliss with my bride, 
But then Death — I ne'er dreamt about that ! 

0, there 's nothing is certain in life, as I cried 
When my turbot eloped with the cat ! 

My dearest took ill at the turn of the year, 
But the cause no physician could nab ; 

But something it seemed like consumption, I fear, — - 
It was just after supping on crab. 

In vain she was doctored, in vain she was dosed, 
Still her strength and her appetite pined ; 

She lost relish for w^hat she had relished the most, 
Even salmon she deeply declined ! 

For months still I lingered in hope and in doubt, 
While her form it grew wasted and thin ; 

But the last dying spark of existence went out, 
As the oysters were just coming in ! 

She died, and she left me the saddest of men, 

To induhjje in a widower's moan ; 
0, I felt all the power of solitude then, 

As I ate my first natives alone ! 



376 THE CARELESSE NURSE MA YD. 

But when I beheld Virtue's friends in their cloaks, 
And with sorrowful crape on their hats, 

mj grief poured a flood ! and the out-of-door folks 
Were all crying — I think it was sprats ! 



THE CARELESSE NURSE MAYD. 

I SAWE a Majd sitte on a Bank, 

Beguiled by Wooer fajne and fond ; 

And whiles His flatterynge Yowes She drank, 

Her Nurselynge slipt within a Pond ! 

All Even Tide they Talkde and Kist, 
For She was fayre and He was Kinde ; 
The Sunne went down before She wist 
Another Sonne had sett behinde ! 

With angrie Hands and frownynge Browe, 
That deemd Her owne the Urchine's Sinne, 
She pluckt Him out, but be was nowe 
Past being Whipt for filjynge in. 

She then beginnes to wayle the Ladde 
With Shrikes that Echo answerede round — ■ 
! foolishe Mayd to be the sadde 
The Momente that her Care was drownd ! 



ODE TO PERRY. 377 

ODE TO PERRY, 

THE INVENTOR OF THE P.\TENT I'ERRYAN PEN. 

*' In this good work, Penn appears the greatest, usefuUest of God'a instru- 
merits. Firm and unbending when the exigency requires it — soft and 
yielding when rigid inflexibility is not a desideratum — fluent and flowing, 
at need, for eloquent rapidity — slow and retentive in cases of deliberation 
— never spluttering or by amplification going Avide of the mark — never 
splitting, if it can be helped, with any one, but ready to wear it«elf out 
rather in their service — 'all things as it were with all men, — ready to em- 
brace the hand of Jew, Christian, or Mahometan, — heavy with the German, 
light with the Italian, oblique with the English, upright with the Roman, 
backward in coming forward with the Hebrew, — in short, for flexibility, 
amiability, constitutional durability, general ability, and universal utility, it 
would be hard to find a parallel to the great Penn." — Perry's Character- 
istics OF A Skttler. 

! Patent Pen-inventing Perrian Perrj ! 

Friend of the goose and gander, 
That now unplucked qf their quill-feathers wander, 
Cackling, and gabbling, dabbling, making merry, 

About the happy fen. 
Untroubled for one penny-worth of pen, 
For which they chant thy praise all Britain through, 

From Goose-Green unto Gander- Cleuo;h ! — 



o 



Friend to all Author-kind, — 
Whether of Poet or of Proser, — 
Thou art composer unto the composer 
Of pens, — yea, patent vehicles for Mind 
To carry it on jaunts, or more extensive 

Pe;v7/grinations through the realms of thought ) 
Each plying from the Comic to the Pensive, 

An Omnibus of intellectual sort ! 

Modern improvements in their course we feel ; 
And while to iron-railroads heavy wares, 



^78 ODE TO PERRY. 

Dry goods, and human bodies, pay their fares. 

Mind flies on steel, 
To Penrith, Peni-hjn, even to Penzance ; 

Nay, penetrates, perchance, 
To Pennsylvania, or, without rash vaunts, 
To where the Penguin haunts ! 

In times bygone, w^hen each man cut his quill, 

With little Perryan skill, 
What horrid, awkward, bungling tools of trade 
Appeared the w^riting implements home-made ! 
What Pens were sliced, hewed, hacked, and haggled out, 
Slit or unslit, with m.any a various snout, 
Aquiline^ Roman, crooked, square, and snubby, 

Stumpy and stubby: 
Some capable of ladye-billets neat. 
Some only fit for ledger-keeping clerk. 
And some to grub down Pete* Stubbs his mark, 
Or smudge through some illegible receipt ; 
Others in florid caligraphic plans. 
Equal to ships, and wiggy heads, and swans ! 

To try in any common inkstands, then. 
With all their miscellaneous stocks. 

To find a decent pen. 
Was like a dip into a lucky box : 

You drew, — and got one very curly, 
And split like endive in some hurly-burly j 
The next unslit, and square at end, a spade ; 
The third, incipient pop-gun, not yet made ; 
The fourth a broom ; the fifth of no avail. 
Turned upwards, like a rabbit's tail ; 
And last, not least, by way of a relief, 
A stump that Master Richard, James or Joliu, 



ODE TO PERRY. 379 

Had tried his candle-cookery upon 

Making " roast-beef! " 

Not so thy Perrjan Pens ! 
True to their M's and N's, 
Thej do not with a whizzing zig-zag split, 
Straddle, turn up their noses, sulk, and spit. 
Or di'op large dots, 
Huge full-stop blots. 
Where even semicolons were unfit. 
,Thej will not frizzle up, or, broom-like, drudge 

In sable sludge — 
Nay, bought at proper " Patent Perryan" shops, 
They write good grammar, sense, and mind their stops 
Compose both prose and verse, the sad and merry — 
For when the editor, whose pains compile 
The grown-up Annual, or the Juvenile, 
Vauntcth his articles, not women's, men's. 
But lays " by the most celebrated Pens," 
What means he but thy Patent Pens, my Perry ] 

Pleasant they are to feel ! 
So firm ! so flexible ! composed of steel 
So finely tempered — fit for tenderest Miss 

To give her passion breath, 
Or kings to sign the warrant stern of death — 
But their supremest merit still is this, 

Write with them all your days. 
Tragedy, Comedy, all kinds of plays — 
(No dramatist should ever be without 'em) — 

And, just conceive the bliss, — 
There is so little of the goose about 'em, 

One 's safe from any hiss ! 



380 ODE TO PERRY. 

Ah ! who can paint that first great awful night, 

Big with a blessing or a blight. 
When the poor dramatist, all fume and fret, 
Fuss, fidget, fancy, fever, funking, fi-ight. 
Ferment, fault-fearing, faintness — more f's yet: 
Flushed, frigid, flurried, flinching, fitful, flat, 
Add famished, fuddled, and fatigued, to that ; 
Funeral, fate-foreboding — sits in doubt. 
Or rather doubt with hope, a wretched marriage, 
To see his play upon the stage come out ; 
No stage to him ! it is Thalia's carriage, 
And he is sitting on the spikes behind it, 
Striving to look as if he did n't mind it ! 

Witness how Beazley vents upon his hat 
His nervousness, meanwhile his fate is dealt : 
He kneads, moulds, pummels it. and sits it flat, 
Squeezes and twists it up, until the felt, 
That went a beaver in, comes out a rat ! 
Miss Mitford had mis-givings, and in fright. 

Upon Rienzi's night. 
Gnawed up one long kid glove, and all her bag, 

Quite to a rag. 
Knowles has confessed he trembled as for life, 

Afraid of his own " Wife ; " 
Poole told me that he felt a monstrous pail 
Of water backing him, all down his spine, — 
" The ice-brook's temper " — pleasant to the chine ! 
For fear that Simpson and his Co. should fail. 
Did Lord Glengall not frame a mental prayer. 
Wishing devoutly he w%is Lord knows where 7 
Nay, did not Jerrold, in enormous drouth, 
While doubtful of Nell Gwynne's eventful luck, 

Squeeze out and suck 



ODE TO PERRY. 381 

More oranges with his one fevered mouth 
Than Nellj had to hawk from north to south I 
Yea, BuckstonCj ciianging color like a mullet, 
Refused, on an occasion, once, tAvice, thrice, 
From his best friend, an ice, 
Lest it should hiss in his own red-hot gullet. 

Doth punning Peake not sit upon the points 
Of his own jokes, and shake in all his joints, 

During their trial ? 

'T is past denial. 
And does not Pocock, feeling, like a peacock, 
All eyes upon him, turn to very meacock ? 
And does not Planche, tremulous and blank, 
Meanwhile his personages tread the boards. 

Seem goaded by sharp swords. 
And called upon himself to " walk the plank " 7 
As for the Dances, Charles and George to boot, 

What have they more 
Of ease and rest, for sole of either foot. 
Than bear that capers on a hotted floor ! 

Tlius pending — does not Mathews, at sad shift 
For voice, croak like a frog in waters fenny ? — 
Serle seem upon the surly seas adrift 'I — 
And Kenny think lie 's going to Kilkenny 7 — 
Haynes Bayly feel Old ditto, with the note 
Of Cotton in his ear, a mortal grapple 

About his arms, and Adam's apple 
Bior as a fine Dutch codlino- in his throat ? 
Did Rodwell, on his chimney-piece, desire 
Or not to take a jump into the fire ? 
Did Wade feel as composed as music can ? 
And was not Bernard his own Nervous Mi n ! 



382 ODE TO PERRY. 

Lastly, don't Farley, a bewildered elf. 
Quake at the Pantomime he loves to cater, 
Aud evo its changes ring transform himself ? — 

A fricrhtful muo; of human delf ? 
A •i^pirit-bottle — empty of •' the cratur " 1 

A leaden-platter ready for the shelf 7 

A thunderstruck dumb-waiter ? 

To clench the fact, 
Myself, once guilty of one small rash act, 
Committed at the Surrey, 
Quite in a hurry, 
JFelt all this flurry, 
Corporal worry. 
And spiritual scurry, 
^'>r{».m-devil — attic curry ! 
All ffoino; well, 
From prompter's bell, 
Until befell 
A hissing at some dull imperfect dunce — 

There 's no denying 
I felt in all four elements at once ! 
My head was swimming, while my arms were flying i 
My legs for running — all the rest was frying ! 

Thrice welcome, then, for this peculiar use. 

Thy pens so innocent of goose ! 
For this shall dramatists, when they make merry, 
Discarding port and sherry, 
Drink— "Perry!" 
Perry, whose fame, peimated, is let loose 

To distant lands, 
Perry, admitted on all hands, 
Text, running, Grerman, Roman, 
For Patent Perryans approached by no man J 



NUMBER ONE. 383 

And when, ah me ! far distant be the hour ! 
Pluto shall call thee to his gloomj bower, 
Many shall be thy pensive mourners, many ! 
And Penury itself shall club its penny 
To raise thy monument in lofty place, 
Higher than York's or any son of \Yar ; 
Whilst time all meaner effigies shall bury. 

On due pentagonal base 
Shall stand the Parian, Perryan, periwigged Perry, 
Perched on the proudest peak of Penman Mawr ! 



NUMBER ONE. 

VERSIFIED FROM THE PROSE OF A YOUNG LADY. 

It 's very hard ! — and so it is, to live in such a row, — 
And witness this that every miss but me has got a beau. — 
For Love goes calling up and down, but here he seems to 

shun ; 
I 'm sure he has been asked enough to call at Number One f 

I 'm sick of all the double knocks that come to Number 

Four ! — 
At Number Three, I often see a lover at the door ; — 
A.nd one in blue, at Number Two, calls daily like a dun, — 
It 's very hard they come so near, and not to Number One ! 

ISIiss Bell, I hear, has got a dear exactly to her mind, — 
By liitting at the window-pane without a bit of blind ; — 
But I go in the balcony, which she has never done, 
Yet arts that thrive at Number Five don't take at Numbei 
One! 

'T is hard, with plenty in the street, and plenty passing by, — 
There 's nice young men at Number Ten, but only rather 
shy; — 



884 NUMBER ONE. 

And Mrs. Smith across the way has got a grown-up son, 
But, la 1 he hardly seems to know there is a Number One ! 

There 's Mr. Wick at Number Nine, but he 's intent on pelf. 

And though he 's pious will not love his neighbor as him- 
self.— 

At Number Seven there was a sale — the goods had quite 
a run ! 

And here I 've got mj single lot on hand at Number One ! 

Mj mother often sits at work and talks of props and stays, 
And what a comfort I shall be in her declining days : — 
The very maids about the house have set me down a nun, 
The sweethearts all belong to them that call at Number One ! 

Once only, when the flue took fire, one Friday afternoon, 
Young Mr. Long came kindly in and told me not to swoon : 
Why can't he come again without the Phoenix and the Sun 7 
We cannot always have a flue on fire at Number One ! 

I am not old, I am not plain, nor awkward in my gait — 
I am not crooked, like the bride that went from Number 

Eight : — 
I 'm sure white satin made her look as brown as any bun — 
But even beauty has no chance, I think, at Number One ! 

At Number Six they say Miss Rose has slain a score of 

hearts, 
And Cupid, for her sake, has been quite prodigal of darts. 
The imp they show with bended bow, I wish he had a gun ! 
But if he had. he 'd never deign to shoot with Number One. 

It 's very hard, and so it is, to live in such a row ! 
And here 's a ballad-singer come to aggravate my woe ; — 
0, take away your foolish song and tones enough to stun — 
Tliere is " Nae luck about the house," I know, at Number 
One! 



i 



LINES ON THE CELEBRATION OF PEACE. 385 

LINES ON THE CELEBRATION OF PEACE. 

BY DORCAS DOVE. 

And is it thus je welcome Peace, 

From mouths of fortj-pounding Bores 7 

0, cease, exploding Cannons, cease ! 
Lest Peace, affrighted, shun our shores ! 

Not so the quiet Queen should come ; 

But like a Nurse to still our Fears, 
With shoes of List, demurely dumb. 

And Wool or Cotton in her Ears ! 

She asks for no triumphal Arch ; 

No Steeples for their ropy Tongues ; 
Down, Drumsticks, down ! She needs no March, 

Or blasted Trumps from brazen Lungs 

She wants no Noise of mobbing Throats 

To tell that She is drawino- nio-h : 
Why this Parade of scarlet Coats, 

When War has closed his bloodshot Eye T 

Returning to Domestic Loves, 

When War has ceased with all its Ills, 

Captains should come like sucking Doves, 
With Olive Branches in their Bills. 

No need there is of vulgar Shout, 

Bells, Cannons, Trumpets, Fife and Drum, 

And Soldiers marching all about. 
To let Us know that Peace is come. 

0, mild should be the Signs, and meek, 

Sweet Peace's Advent to proclaim ! 
Silence her noiseless Foot should speak, 

And Echo should repeat the same. 

23 



386 THE DEMON-SHIP. 

Lo I where the Soldier walks, alas ! 

With Scars received on foreign Grounds ; 
Shall we consume in colored Glass 

The Oil that should be poured in Wounds 7 

The bleeding Gaps of War to close, 
Will whizzing Rocket-Flight avail 7 

Will Squibs enliven Orphans' Woes ? 
Or Crackers cheer the Widow's Tale 1 



. THE DEMON-SHIP. 

'T WAS oiF the Wash — the sun went down — the sea looked 

black and grim. 
For stormy clouds with murky fleece were mustering at the 

brim ; 
Titanic shades ! enormous gloom ! — as if the solid night 
Of Erebus rose suddenly to seize upon the light ! 
It was a time for mariners to bear a wary eye, 
With such a dark conspiracy between the sea and sky ! 

Down went my helm — close reefed — the tack held freely 

in my hand — 
With ballast snug — I put about, and scudded for the land. 
Loud hissed the sea beneath her lee ; my little boat flew fast, 
But faster still the rushing storm came borne upon the blast. 
Lord ! what a roaring hurricane beset the straining sail ! 
What furious sleet, with level drift, and fierce assaults of 

hail ! 
What darksome caverns yawned before ! what jagged steeps 

behind ! 
Like battle-steeds, with foamy manes, wild tossing in the 

wind. 
Each after each sank down astern, exhausted in the chase^ 
But where it sank another rose and galloped in its place ; 



THE DEMON-SKIP. 387 

As black as night — thej turned to white, and cast against 

the cloud 
A snowy sheet, as if each surge upturned a sailor's shroud : 
Still flew my boat ; alas ! alas ! her course was nearly run 1 
Behold yon fiital billow rise — ten billows heaped in one ! 
With fearful speed the dreary mass came rolling, rolling fast, 
As if the scooping sea contained one only wave, at last ! 
Still on it came, with horrid roar, a swift-pursuing grave ; 
It seemed as though some cloud had turned its hugeness to 

a wave ! 
Its briny sleet began to beat beforehand in my face — 
I felt the rearward keel beo;in to climb its swellino- base ! 
I saw its Alpine hoary head impending over mine ! 
Another pulse, and down it rushed, an avalanche of brine ! 
Brief pause had I, on God to cry, or think of wife and home ; 
The waters closed — and when I shrieked. I shrieked below 

the foam ! 
Beyond that rush I have no hint of any after deed — 
For I was tossing on the waste, as senseless as a weed. 

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ 4^ 

-^ -TV" -TV -TV- TT "TV 

''Where am I ? in the breathing world, or in the world of 

death'/" 
With sharp and sudden pang I drew another birth of breath ; 
My eyes drank in a doubtful light, my ears a doubtful sound, 
And was that ship a real ship whose tackle seemed around? 

A moon, as if the earthly moon, was shining up aloft ; 
But were those beams the very beams that I had seen so oft 7 
A face that mocked the human face before me watched alone ; 
But were those eyes the eyes of man that looked against 
my own ? 

! never may the moon again disclose me such a sight 
As met my gaze, when first I looked on that accursed night ! 



388 THE DEMON-SHIP. 



^ 



I 've seen a thousand horrid shapes begot of fierce extremes 
Of fever; and most frightful things have haunted in my 

dreams — 
Hyenas, cats, blood-loving bats, and apes with hateful stare, 
Pernicious snakes, and shaggy bulls, the lion and she-bear, 
Strong enemies, with Judas looks, of treachery and spite — 
Detested features, hardly dimmed and banished by the light 

Pale-sheeted ghosts, with gory locks, upstarting from, their 

tombs — 
All fantasies and images that flit in midnight glooms — 
Hags, goblins, demons, lemures, have made me all aghast, — 
But nothing like that Grimly One who stood beside the 

mast ! 

His cheek was black — his brow was black — his eyes and 

hair as dark : 
His hand was black, and where it touched it left a sable 

mark ; 
His throat was black, his vest the same, and when I looked 

beneath, 
His breast was black — all, all was black, except his grin- 



ning teeth. 



His sooty crew were like in hue, as black as Afric slaves ! 
0, horror ! e'en the ship was bhick that ploughed the inky 



waves 



"Alas ! " I cried, •' for love of truth and blessed mercy's sake, 
Where am 17 in what drea^dful ship 7 upon what dreadful lake ? 
What shape is that, so very grim, and black as any coal 7 
It is Mahound, the Evil One, and he has gained my soul ! 
^. mother dear ! my tender nurse ! dear meadows that 

beguiled 
My happy days, when I was yet a little sinless child, — 
My mother dear — my native fields, I never more shall see : 
I'm sailing in the Devil's Ship, upon the Devil's Sea I " 



SPRING. 389 

Loud laughed that Sable Mariner, and loudly in return 
His sooty crew sent forth a laugh that rang from stem to 

stern — 
A dozen pair of grimly cheeks were crumpled on the nonce — 
As many sets of grinning teeth came shining out at once : 
A dozen gloomy shapes at once enjoyed the merry fit, 
With shriek and yell, and oaths as well, like demons of the Pit. 
They crowed their fill, and then the Chief made answer for 

the whole ; — 
" Oijir skins," said he, " are black, ye see, because we carry 

coal ; 
You '11 find your mother sure enough, and see your native 

fields — 
For this here ship has picked you up — the Mary Ann of 

Shields ! " 



SPRING. 

A NEW VERSION. 



** Ham. The air bites shrewdly — it is very cold. 
Hor. It is a nipping and an eager air." — Hamlkt. 

*' Come, gentle Spring ! ethereal mildness, come! '^ 
! Thomson, void of rhyme as well as reason, 

How couldst thou thus poor human nature hum 7 
There 's no such season. 

The Spring ! I shrink and shudder at her name ! 

For why, I find her breath a bitter blighter ! 
And suffer from her blows as if they came • 

From Spring the Fighter. 

Her praises, then, let hardy poets sing. 

And be her tuneful laureates and upholders, 

Who do not feel as if they had a Spring 
poured dowE their shoulders ! 



390 SPRINO. 

Let others eulogize her floral shows ; 

From me they cannot win a single stanza. 
I know her blooms are in full blow — and so 's 

The Influenza. 

Her cowslips, stocks, and lilies of the vale, 

Her honey- blossoms that you hear the bees at, 

Her pansies, daffodils, and primrose pale, 
Are things I sneeze at ! 

Fair is the vernal quarter of the year ! 

And fair its early buddings and its blowings — 
But just suppose Consumption's seeds appear 

With other sowings ! 

For me, I find, when eastern winds are high, 
A frigid, not a genial inspiration ; 

Nor can, like Iron-Chested Chubb, defy 
An inflammation. 

Smitten by breezes from the land of plague, 
To me all vernal luxuries are fables, 

! where 's the Spring in a rheumatic leg, 
Stiff as a table's? 



I limp in agony, — I wheeze and cough ; 

And quake with Ague, that great Agitator ; 
Nor dream, before July, of leaving off 

My Respirator. 

What wonder if in May itself I lack 

A peg for laudatory verse to hang on ? — 

Spring mild and gentle ! — yes, a Spring-heeled Jack 
To those he sprang on. 

In short, whatever panegyrics lie 

In fulsome odes too many to be cited, 
The tenderness of Spring is all my eye, 

And that is blighted ! 



FAITHLESS NELLY QRAY. 391 

FAIillLESS NELLY GRAY. 

A PATUETIC BALLAD. 

Ben Battle was a soldier bold, 

And used to Avar's alarms; 
But a cannon-ball took off his legs, 

So he laid down his arms ! 

Now, as they bore him off the field, 

Said he, ' ' Let others shoot, 
For here I leave my second leg. 

And the Forty-second Foot ! " 

The army-surgeons made him limbs : 

Said he, '' They 're only pegs : 
But there 's as wooden members quite 

As represent my legs ! " 

Now, Ben he loved a pretty maid, 

Her name was Nelly Gray ; 
So he Avent to pay her liis devours, 

When he devoured his pay ! 

But when he called on Nelly Gray, 

She made him quite a scoff; 
And when she saw his wooden legs, 

Began to take them off! 

" 0, Nelly Gray ! 0, Nelly Gray 

Is this your love so warm 7 
The love that loves a scarlet coat 

Should be more uniform ! " 

Said she, •' I loved a soldier once 

For he was blithe and brave : 
But I will never have a man 

With both legs in the grave ? 



S^'Z FAITHLESS NELLY GRAY. 

"Before jou liad those timber toes, 

Your love I did allow, 
But then, you know, you stand upon 

Another footing now ! " 

" 0, Nelly Gray ! 0, Nelly Gray ! 

For all your jeering speeches, 
At duty's call, I left my legs, 

In Badajos's breaches I " 

" "Why then," said she, " you 've lost the feet 

Of legs in war's alarms. 
And noAV you cannot wear your shoes 

Upon your feats of arms ! " 

" 0, false and fickle Nelly Gray ! 

I know why you refuse : — 
Though I 've no feet — some other man 

Is standing in my shoes ! 

" I wish I ne'er had seen your face ; 

But, now, a long farewell ! 
For you will be my death ; — alas 

You will not be my Nell ! " 

Now, when he went from Nelly Gray, 

His heart so heavy got. 
And life was such a burthen grown, 

It made him take a knot ! 

So round his melancholy neck 

A rope he did entwine. 
And, for his second time in life, 

Enlisted in the Line ! 

One end he tied around a beam, 

And then removed his pegs. 
And, as his legs were off, — of course, 

He soon was off his legs ! 



THE FLOWER. 393 

And there he hung, till he was dead 

As any nail in town, — 
For, though distress had cut him up. 

It could not cut him down ! 

A dozen men sat on his corpse, 

To find out why he died — 
And they buried Ben in four cross-roads, 

With a stake in his inside ! 



THE FLOWER. 



Alone, across a foreign plain, 

The exile slowly wanders, 
And on his isle beyond the main 

With saddened spirit ponders ; 

This lovely isle beyond the sea, 
With all its household treasures ; 

Its cottage homes, its merry birds, 
And all its rural pleasures ; 

Its leafy woods, its shady vales, 
Its moors, and purple heather ; 

Its verdant fields bedecked with stars 
His childhood loved to gather ; 

When, lo ! he starts, with glad surprise, 
Home-joys come rushing o'er him. 

For "modest, wee, and crimson-tipped," 
He spies the flower before him ! 

With eager haste he stoops him down, 
His eyes with moisture hazy, 

And as he plucks the simple bloom 
He murmurs, " Lawk-a-daisy ! " 



S94 THE SEA-SPELL. 

THE SEA-SPELL. 

" Cauld, cauldy he lies beneath the deep." — Old Scotch Ballade 

It was a jollj mariner ! 

The tallest man of three, — 

He loosed his sail against the wind, 

And turned his boat to sea : 

The ink-black skj told every eye 

A storm was 80on to be ! 

But still that jolly mariner 

Took in no reef at all, 

For, in his pouch, confidingly, 

He wore a baby's caul ; 

A thing, as gossip-nurses know, 

That always brings a squall ! 

His hat was new, or, newly glazed, 
Shone brightly in the sun ; 
His jacket, like a mariner's, 
True blue as e'er was spun : 
His ample trousers, like St. Paul, 
Bore forty stripes save one. 

And now the fretting, foaming tide 

He steered away to cross ; 

The bounding pinnace played a game 

Of dreary pitch and toss ; 

A game that, on the good dry land, 

Is apt to bring a loss ! 

Good Heaven befriend that little boat, 

And guide her on her way ! 

A boat, they say, has canvas wings, 

But cannot fly away ! 

Though, like a merry singing-bird, 

She sits upon the spray ! 



THE SEA-SPELL. 395 

Still south bj east the little boat, 

With tawny sail, kept beating : 

Now out of sight, between two waves, 

Now o'er the horizon fleetinsc : 

Like greedy swine tliat feed on mast, — 

The weaves her mast seemed eating ! 

The sullen sky grew black above, 

The W' ave as black beneath ; 

Each roaring billow showed full soon 

A white and foamy wreath ; 

Like angry dogs that snarl at first, 

And then display their teeth. 

The boatman looked against the wind, 

The mast began to creak. 

The wave, per saltum, came and dried. 

In salt, upon his cheek ! 

The pointed wave against him reared, 

As if it owned a pique ! 

Nor rushing wind nor gushing wave 

The boatman could alarm, 

But still he stood away to sea, 

And trusted in his charm : 

He thought by purchase he was safe. 

And armed against all harm ! 

Now thi6k and fast and far aslant 
The stormy rain came pouring, 
He heard, upon the sandy bank. 
The distant breakers roaring, — 
A groaning intermitting sound. 
Like Goi2; and Mao;oo; snorin"; ! 

The sea-fowl shrieked around the mast, 
Ahead the grampus tumbled. 



396 THE SEA-SPELL. 

And far off, from a copper cloud, 
The hollow thunder rumbled ; 
It would have quailed another heart, 
But his was never humbled. 

For why ? he had that infant's caul ; 
And wherefore should he dread? 
Alas ! alas ! he little thought, 
Before the ebb-tide sped, — 
That, like that infant, he should die, 
And with a watery head ! 

The rushing brine flowed in apace ; 

His boat had ne'er a deck : 

Fate seemed to call him on, and he 

Attended to her beck ; 

And so he went, still trusting on, 

Though reckless — to his wreck ! 

For as he left his helm, to heave 

The ballast-bags a- weather. 

Three monstrous seas came roaring on, 

Like lions leagued together. 

The two first waves the little boat 

Swam over like a leather, — 

The two first waves were past and gone, 

And sinking in her wake ; 

The hugest still came leaping on. 

And hissing like a snake. 

Now helm a-lee ! for through the midst 

The monster he must take ! 

Ah, me ! it was a dreary mount ! 
Its base as black as nio-ht. 
Its top of pale and livid green, 
Its crest of awful white, 



THE SEA-SPELL. 897 

Like Neptune with a leprosy, — 

And so it reared upright ! 

With quaking sails the little boat 
Climbed up the foaming heap ; 
With quaking sails it paused a while, 
At balance on the steep ; 
Then, rushing down the nether slope, 
Plunged with a dizzy sweep ! 

Look, how a horse, made mad with fear, 

Disdains his careful guide ; 

So now the headlong headstrong boat, 

Unmanaged, turns aside, 

And straight presents her reeling flank 

Against the swelling tide ! 

The gusty wind assaults the sail ; 
Her ballast lies a-lee ! 
The sheet 's to windward taut and stiff, 
! the Lively — where is she 7 
Her capsized keel is in the foam, 
Her pennon 's in the sea ! 

The wild gull, sailing overhead, 
Three times beheld emerge 
The head of that bold mariner, 
And then she screamed his dirge ! 
For he had sunk within his grave. 
Lapped in a shroud of surge ! 

The ensuing wave, with horrid foam, 
Hushed o'er and covered all : 
The jolly boatman's drowning scream 
Was smothered by the squall. 
Heaven never heard his cry, nor did 
The ocean heed his caul. 



898 



A sailor's apology for bow-legs. 



A SAILOR'S APOLOGY FOR BOW-LEGS. 

There 's some is born with their straight legs by natur — 

And some is born with bow-legs from the first — 

And some that should have growed a good deal straighter 

But thej were badly nursed, 
And set, you see, like Bacchus, with their pegs 

Astride of casks and kegs : 
I 've got myself a sort of bow to larboard, 

And starboard. 
And this is what it was that warped my legs. 

'T was all along of Poll, as I may say, 
That fouled my cable when I ought to slip ; 
But on the tenth of May, 
When I gets under weigh, 
Down there in Hartfordsliire, to join my ship, 

I sees the mail 

Get under sail, 
The only one there was to make the trip. 

^Ve\\ — I gives chase. 

But as she run 

Two knots to one. 
There warn't no use in keeping on the race ! 

Well — casting round about, what next to try on, 

And how to spin, 
I spies an ensign with a Bloody Lion, 
And bears away to leeward for the inn. 

Beats round the gable. 
And fetches up before the coach-horse stable : 
Well — there they stand, four kickers in a row, 

And so 
I just makes free to cut a brown 'un's cable. 
But riding isn't in a seaman's natur — 
So I whips out a toughish end of yarn, 



A sailor's apology for bow-legs. 399 

And gets a kind of sort of a land- waiter 

To splice me, heel to heel, 

Under the she-mare's keel. 
And off I goes, and leaves the inn a-starn ! 

My eyes ! how she did pitch ! 
And wouldn't keep her own to go in no line. 
Though I kept bowsing, bowsing at her bow-line, 
But always making lee- way to the ditch, 
And yawed her head about all sorts of ways. 

The devil sink the craft ! 
And was n't she trimendous slack in stays ! 
We could n't, nohow, keep the inn abaft ! 

Well — I suppose 
We had n't run a knot — or much beyond — 
(What will you have on it 7) — but off she goes, 
Up to her bends in a fresh-water pond ! 

There I am ! — all a-back ! 
So I looks forward for her bridle-gears, 
To heave her head round on the t'other tack ; 

But when I starts. 

The leather parts. 
And goes away right over by the ears ! 

What could a fellow do, 
Whose legs, like mine, you know, were in the bilboes, 
But trim myself upright for bringing-to. 
And square his yard-arms, and brace up his elbows 

In ris all snus; and clever, 
Just while his craft was takinsi; in her water ? 
I did n't like my berth, though, howsomedever, 
Because the yarn, you see, kept getting tauter, — 
Says I — I wish this job was rather shorter I 

The chase had gained a mile 
Ahead, and still the she-mare stood a-drinking : 



400 THE bachelor's dream. 

Now, all the while 
Her body did n't take of course to shrinking. 
Says I, she 's letting out her reefs, I'm thinking - 

And so she swelled, and swelled, 

And jet the tackle held. 
Till both my legs began to bend like winkin. 

My eyes ! but she took in enough to founder ! 
And there 's my timbers straining every bit, 

Ready to split, 
And her tarnation hull a-growing rounder ! 

Well, there — off Hartford Ness, 
We lay both lashed and water-logged together. 

And can't contrive a signal of distress ; 
Thinks I, we must ride out this here foul weather, 
Though sick of riding out — and nothing less ; 
When, looking round, I sees a man a-starn : — 
Hollo ! says I, come underneath her quarter ! — 
x\nd hands him out my knife to cut the yarn. 
So I gets off, and lands upon the road, 
And leaves the she -mare to her own consarn, 

A-standing by the water. 
If I get on another, I '11 be blowed ! — 
And that's the way, you see, my legs got bowed! 



THE BACHELOR'S DREAM. 

My pipe is lit, my grog is mixed, 
My curtains drawn and all is snug ; 
Old Puss is in her elbow-chair, 
And Tray is sitting on the rug. 
Last night I had a curious dream, 
Miss Susan Bates was Mistress Mogg 
What d' ye think of that, my cat ? 
What d' ye think of that, my dog 7 



THE bachelor's DREAM 401 

She looked so fair, she sanir so well, 
I could but woo ai)d she was won ; 
Myself in blue, the bride in white, 
The ring was placed, the deed was done! 
Away we went in chaise-and-four, 
As fast as grinning boys could flog — 
What d' ye think of that, my cat 1 
What d' ye think of that, my dog 7 

What loving tete-a-tetes to come ! 
But tete-a-tetes must still defer ! 
When Susan came to live with me, 
Her mother came to live with her ! 
With sister Belle she could n't part, 
But all nil/ ties had leave to jog — 
What d' ye think of that, my cat 7 
What d' ye think of that, my dog 7 

The mother brought a pretty Poll — 
A monkey too, what work he made ! 
The sister introduced a beau — 
My Susan brought a favorite maid. 
She had a tabby of her own, — 
A snappish mongrel christened Gog, — 
What d' ye think of that, my cat 7 
What d' ye think of that, my dog 7 

The monkey bit — the parrot screamed, 
All day the sister strummed and sung; 
The petted maid was such a scold ! 
My Susan learned to use her tongue ; 
Her mother had such wretched health, 
She sate and croaked like any frog — 
What d' ye think of that, my cat 7 
What d' ye think of that, my dog? 
26 



402 THE BACHELOR S DREAM. 

No longer Deary, Duck, and Love, 
I soon came do^yn to simple " M ! " 
The very servants crossed my wish, 
My Susan let me down to them. 
The poker hardly seemed my own, 
I might as well have been a loo; — 
What d' ye think of that, my cat ? 
What d' ye think of that, my dog 7 . 

My clothes they were the queerest shape ! 
Such coats and hats she never met ! 
My ways they were the oddest ways ! 
My friends were such a vulgar set ! 
Poor Tompkinson was snubbed and huffed. 
She could not bear that Mister Blogg — 
What d' ye think of that, my cat l 
What d' ye think of that, my dog I 

At times we had a spar, and then 
Mamma must mingle in the song — 
The sister took a sister's part — 
The maid declared her master wrong — 
The parrot learned to call me '' Fool ! " 
My life was like a London fog — 
What d' ye think of that, my cat 7 
What d' ye think of that, my dog 7 

My Susan's taste was superfine, ' 
As proved by bills that had no end : 
/never had a decent coat — 
/ never had a coin to spend ! 
She forced me to resign my club, 
Lay down my pipe, retrench my grog — ■ 
What d' ye think of that, my cat 7 
What d' ye think of that, my dog 7 



THE WEE MAN 4Q3 

Each Sunday night we gave a rout 
To fops and flirts, a prettj list j 
And when I tried to steal awaj, 
I found mj study full of whist ! . 
Then, first to come, and last to go, 
There always was a Captain Hogg — 
What d' ye think of that, my caU 
What d' ye think of that, my dog ? 

Now was not that an awful dream 
For one who single is and snug — 
With Pussy in the elbow-chair. 

And Tray reposing on the ruo- 7 

If I must totter down the hill, 
'T is safest done without a cloo- — 
What d' ye think of that, my cat? 
What d' ye think of that, my dog 1 



THE WEE MAN. 

A ROMANCE. 

It was a merry company. 
And they Avcre just afloat, 

When, lo ! a man, of dwarfish span, 
Game up and hailed the boat. 

" Good-morrow to ye, gentle folks, 
And will you let me in ? — 

A slender space will serve my case, 
For I am small and thin." 

They saw he was a dwarfish man. 
And Yerj small and thin ; 

Not seven such would matter much 
And so thev took him in. 



104 THE WEE MAN. 

They laughed to see his little hat, 

With such a narrow brim ; 
They laughed to note his dapper coat, 

With skirts so scant and trim. 

But barely had they gone a mile, 

When, gravely, one and all 
At once began to think the man 

Was not so very small. 

His coat had got a broader skirt, 

His hat a broader brim, 
His leg grew stout, and soon plumped out 

A very proper limb. 

Still on they went, and as they went 
More rough the billows grew, — 

And rose and fell, a greater swell, 
And he was swellins; too ! 

And, lo ! where room had been for seven, 
For six there scarce was space ! 

For five ! — for four ! — for three ! — not more 
Than two could find a place ! 

There was not even room for one ! 

They crowded by degrees — 
Ay — closer yet, till elbows met. 

And knees were jogging knees. 

" Good sir, 5^ou must not sit astern, 
The wave will else come in ! " 

Without a word he gravely stirred, 
Another seat to win. 

" Good sir, the boat has lost her trim, 

You must not sit a-lee ! " 
With smiling face and courteous grace. 

The middle seat took he. 



death's ramble. 405 

But still, bj constant quiet growth, 

His back became so wide, 
Each neighbor wi2;ht, to left and riorht, 

Was thrust against the side. 

Lord ! liow thej chided with themselves^ 

That they had let him in ! 
To see him grow so monstrous now, 

That came so small and thin. 

On every brow a dew-drop stood, 

They grew so scared and hot, — 
" I' the name of all that 's great and tall, 

Who are ye, sir, and what 7 " 

Loud laughed the Gogmagog, a laugh 

As loud as giant's roar — 
'' When first I came, my proper name 

Was Little — now^ I 'm Moore .' " 



DEATH'S RAMBLE. 

One day the dreary old King of Death 
Liclined for some sport with the carnal. 

So he tied a pack of darts on his back, 
And quietly stole from his charnel. 

His head was bald of flesh and of hair, 

His body was lean and lank ; 
His joints at each stir made a crack, and the cur 

Took a gnaw, by the way, at his shank. 

And what did he do with his deadly darts, 

This goblin of grisly bone 7 
He dabbled and spilled man's blood, and h(j killed 

Like a butcher that kills his own. 



406 death's ramble. 

The first he slaughtered it made him laugh, 

(For the man ay as a coffin-maker,) 
To think how the mutes, and men in black suits, 

Would mourn for an undertaker. 

Death saw two Quakers sitting at church ; 

Quoth he, " We shall not difier." 
And he let them alone, like figures of stone, 

For he could not make them stiiOfer. 

He saw two duellists going to fight, 

In fear thej could not smother ; 
And he shot one through at once — for he knew 

They never would shoot each other. 

He saw a watchman &st in his box 

And he gave a snore infernal ; 
Said Death, " He may keep his breath, for his sleep 

Can never be more eternal." 

He met a coachman driving a coach 

So sloAV that his fare grew sick : 
But he let him stray on his tedious way, 

For Death only wars on the quick. 

Ocath saw a tollman taking a toll, 

In the spirit of his fraternity ; 
3ut he knew that sort of man would extort, 

Though summoned to all eternity. 

ile found an author writing his life, 

But he let him "write no further ; 
xTor Death, who strikes whenever he likes, 

Is jealous of all self-murther ! 

Death saw a patient that pulled out his purse, 

And a doctor that took the sum ; 
But ho let them be - — for he knew that tlie '' fee" 

Was -4 prctude to "faw" and "fum." 



THE PROGRESS OF ART. 407 

He met a dustman rinojino; a bell, 

And he gave him a mortal thrust ; 
For himself, bj law, since Adam's flaw, 

Is contractor for all our dust. 

He saw a sailor mixins his irros:, 

And he marked him out for slaughter ; 

For on water he scarcely had cared for death, 
And never on rum-and-water. 

Death saw two players playing at cards, 
But the game was n' t worth a dump, 

For he quickly laid them flat with a spade, 
To wait for the final trump ! 



THE PROGRESS OF ART. 

HAPPY time ! — Art's early days ! 
When o'er each deed, with sweet self-praise, 

Narcissus-like I hung ! 
When great Rembrandt but little seemed, 
And such Old blasters all were deemed 

As nothing to the young ! 

Some scratchy strokes — abrupt and few. 
So easily and swift I drew, 

Sufliced for my design ; 
My sketchy, superficial hand, 
Drew solids at a dash — and spanned 

A surface with a line. 

Not long my eye was thus content, 
But grew more critical — my bent 
Essayed a higher walk ; 

1 copied leaden eyes in lead — 
Rheumatic hands in white and red. 

And gouty feet — in clialk. 



i08 THE PROGRESS OF ART. 

Anon mj studious art for days 
Kept making faces — liappy phrase, 

For faces such as mine ! 
Accomplished in the details then, 
I left the minor parts of men, 

And drew the form divine. 

Old gods and heroes — Trojan — Greek, 
Figures — long after the antique, 

Great Ajax justly feared ; 
Hectors, of ^A'hom at night I dreamt, 
And Nestor, fringed enough to tempt 

Bird-nesters to his beard. 

A Bacchus, leering on a bowl, 
A Pallas, that out-stared her owl; 

A Vulcan — very lame ; 
A Dian stuck about with stars, 
With my right hand I murdered Mars — 

(One Williams did the same.) 

But tired of this dry work at last. 
Crayon and chalk aside I cast. 

And gave my brush a drink. 
Dipping — " as when a painter dips 
In gloom of earthquake and eclipse," — ■ 

That is — in Indian ink. 

then, what black Mont Blancs arose, 
Crested with soot, and not with snows : 

What clouds of dingy hue ! 
In spite of what the bard has penned, 

1 fear the distance did not " lend 

Enchantment to the view." 

Not Radclyffe's brush did e'er design 
Black forests half so black as mine, 



THE PROGRESS OF ART. 409 

Or lakes so like a pall ; 
The Chinese cake dispersed a ray 
Of darkness, like the light of Day 

And Martin, over all. 

Yet urchin pride sustained me still ; 
I gazed on all with right good will, 

And spread the dingy tint ; 
" No holy Luke helped me to paint ; 
The Devil, surely not a Saint, 
Had any finger in 't ! " 

But colors came ! — like morning light, 
With gorgeous hues displacing night, 

Or Spring's enlivened scene : 
At once the sable shades withdrew ; 
My skies got very, very blue ; 

My trees, extremely green. 

And, washed by my cosmetic brush, 
How Beauty's cheek began to blush ! 

With lock of auburn stain — 
(Not Goldsmith's Auburn) — nut-brown liair 
That made her loveliest of the fair ; 

Not '' loveliest of the plain ! " 

Her lips were of vermilion hue ; 
Love in her eyes, and Prussian blue, 

Set all my heart in flame ! 
A young Pygmalion, I adored 
The maids I made — but time was stored 

With evil — and it came ! 

Perspective dawned — and soon I saw 
My houses stand against its law ; 
And "keeping" all unkept! 



410 A FAIRY TALE. 

My beauties were no longer things 
For love and fond imaginings ; 
But horrors to be wept ! 

Ah ! why did knowledge ope my eyes 1 
Why did I get more artist- wise 7 

It only serves to hint 
What grave defects and wants are mine ; 
That I 'm no Hilton in design — 

In nature no Dewint ! 

Thrice happy time ! — Art's early days ! 
When o'er each deed, with sweet self-praise; 

Narcissus-like I hung ! 
When great Rembrandt but little seemed, 
And such Old Masters all were deemed 

As nothing to the young ! 



A FAIRY TALE. 

On Hounslow heath — and close beside the road, 
As western travellers may oft have seen, — 
A little house some years ago there stood, 

A minikin abode ; 
And built like Mr. Birkbeck's, all of wood ; 
The walls of white, the window-shutters green ; — 
Four wheels it had at North, South, East, and West, 

(Though now at rest,) 
On which it used to wander to and fro, 
Because its master ne'er maintained a rider. 
Like those w^ho trade in Paternoster Row ; 
But made his business travel for itself. 

Till he had made his pelf, 
And then retired — if one may call it so^ 

Of a roadsider. 



k 



A FAIRY TALE. 411 

Perchance, the very race and constant riot 
Of stages, long and short, which thereby ran, 
Made him more relish the repose and quiet 

Of his now sedentary caravan ; 
Perchance, he loved the ground because 't was common, 
And so he might impale a strip of soil, 
That furnished, by his toil, 
Some dusty greens, for him and his old woman ; — 
And five tall hollyhocks, in dingy flower. 
Howbeit, the thoroughfare did no ways spoil 
His peace, — unless, in some unlucky hour, 
A stray horse came and gobbled up his bower ! 

But, tired of always looking at the coaches. 

The same to come, — when they had seen them one day! 

And, used to brisker life, both man and wife 
Began to suffer N U E's approaches, 
And feel retirement like a long wet Sunday, — 
So, having had some quarters of school-breeding, 
They turned themselves, like other folks, to reading • 
But setting out where others nigh have done, 
And being ripened in the seventh stage. 

The childhood of old age, 
Began, as other children have begun, — 
Not with the pastorals of Mr. Pope, 

Or Bard of Hope, 
Or Paley ethical, or learned Porson, — 
But spelt, on Sabbaths, in St. Mark, or John, 
And then relaxed themselves with Whittington. 

Or Valentine and Orson — 
But chiefly fairy tales they loved to con. 
And being easily melted in their dotage, 

Slobbered, — and kept 

Reading, — and wept 
Over the White Cat, in their wooden cottage. 



412 A FAIRY TALE. 



Thus reading on — the longer 



Thej read, of course, their childish faith grew stronger 
In Gnomes, and Hags, and Elves, and Giants grim, — 
If talking trees and birds revealed to him, 
She saw the flight of Fairyland's fly- wagons, 

And magic fishes swim 
In puddle ponds, and took old croAvs for dragons, — 
Both were quite drunk from the enchanted flagons ; 
When, as it fell upon a summer's day, 
As the old man sat a feeding 

On the old babe-reading, 
Beside his open street-and-parlor door, 

A hideous roar 
Proclaimed a drove of beasts was coming by the way. 

Long-horned, and short, of many a different breed, 
Tall, tawny brutes, from famous Lincoln-levels, 

Or Durham feed. 
With some of those unquiet black dwarf devils, 

From nether side of Tweed, 

Or Firth of Forth ; 
Looking half wild with joy to leave the North, — 
With dusty hides, all mobbing on together, — 
When, — whether from a fly's malicious comment 
Upon his tender flank, from which he shrank ; 

Or whether 
Only in some enthusiastic moment, — 
However, one brown monster, in a frisk. 
Giving his tale a perpendicular whisk, 
Kicked out a passage through the beastly rabble ; 
And after a pas seul, — or, if you will, a 
Hornpipe before the basket-maker's villa. 

Leapt o'er the tiny pale, — 
Backed his beef-steaks against the wooden gable, 
And thrust his brawny bell-rope of a tail 



4 



A FAIRY TALE 413 

Right o'er the page 
Wherein the sage 
Just then was spelling some romantic fable. 

The old man, half a scholar, half a dunce, 

Could not peruse — who could ? — two tales at once ; 

And being huffed 
At what he knew was none of Riquet's Tuft, 

Banged-to the door, 
But most unluckily enclosed a morsel 
Of the intruding tail, and all the tassel : — ■ 

The monster gave a roar, 
And bolting off with speed, increased by pain, 
The little house became a coach once more, 
And, like Macheath, " took to the road " again ! 

Just then, by fortune's whimsical decree. 
The ancient woman stooj^ing with her crupper 
Towards sweet home, or where sweet home should be 
Was getting up some household herbs for supper : 
Thoughtful of Cinderella, in the tale. 
And quaintly wondering if magic shifts 
Could o'er a common pumpkin so prevail. 
To turn it to a coach, — what pretty gifts 
Might come of cabbages, and curly kale : 
Meanwhile she never heard her old man's wail, 
Nor turned, till home had turned a corner, quite 
Gone out of sight ! 

At last, conceive her, rising from the ground, 
Weary of sitting on her russet clothing ; 

And looking round 

Where rest was to be found, 
Thore was no house — no villa there — no nothins: ! 
No house ! 



414 THE TUP.D/n 

The change was quite aiiaazing ; 
It made her senses stagger hr a minute, 
The riddle's explication seenred to harden ; 
But soon her superannuated nous 
Explained the horrid mystery ; — and raising 
Her hand to heaven, with the cabbage in it, 

On which she meant to sup, — 
" Well ! this is Fairy Work ! I '11 bet a farden. 
Little Prince Silverwings has ketched me up, 
And set me. down in some one else's garden ! '' 



THE TURTLES. ' 

A FABLE. 

"The rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle.** — 3"V>N. 

One day, it was before a civic dinner, 

Two London Aldermen, no matter which,- 
Cordwainer, Girdler, Pattern-maker, Skinna' - 

But both were florid, corpulent, and rich, 
And both right fond of festive demolition, 

Set forth upon a secret expedition. 
Yet not, as might be fancied from the token, 

To Pudding Lane, Pie Corner, or the Street 
Of Bread, or Grub, or anything to eat, 
Or drink, as Milk, or Vintry, or Portsoken, 
But eastward to that more aquatic quarter. 

Where folks take water. 
Or, bound on voyages, secure a berth 
For Antwerp or Ostend. Dundee or Perth, 
Calais, Boulogne, or any port on earth ! 

Jostled and jostling, through the mud. 
Peculiar to the town of Lud, 
Down narrow streets and crooked lanes they di^ed, 



THE TURTLES. 415 

Past many a gusty avenue, through which 

Came yellow fog, and smell of pitch, 
From barge, and boat, and dusky wharf derived ; 
With darker fumes, brought eddying by the draught. 

From loco-smoko-motive craft ; 
Mingling with scents of butter, cheese, and gammons, 
Tea, coffee, sugar, pickles, rosin, wax, 
Hides, tallow, Russia-matting, hemp and flax^ 
Salt-cod, red-herrings, sprats, and kippered salmons, 

Nuts, oranges, and lemons. 
Each pungent spice, and aromatic gum, 
Gas, pepper, soaplees, brandy, gin, and rum ; 
Alamode-beef and greens — the London soil — 
Glue, coal, tobacco, turpentine, and oil, 
Bark, asafoetida, squills, vitriol, hops, 
In short, all Avhiffs, and sniffs, and puffs, and snuffs, 
From metals, minerals, and dyewood stuffs. 
Fruits, victual, drink, solidities, or slops — 
In flasks, casks, bales, trucks, wagons, taverns, shops, 
Boats, lighters, cellars, wharfs, and warehouse-tops, 
That, as w^e walk upon the river's ridge, 

Assault the nose — below the brido-e. 

A walk, however, as tradition tells. 
That once a poor blind Tobit used to choose, 
Because, incapable of other views, 

He met with -^such a si2;ht of smells." 

But on, and on, and on. 
In spite of all unsavory shocks, 

Proo-ress the stout Sir Peter and Sir John, 
Steadily steering ship-like for the docks — 
And now they reach a place the Muse, unwilling, 
Recalls for female slang and vulgar doing, 
The famous Gate of Billing 
That does not lead to cooing — 



416 THE TURTLES. 

And now they pass that house that is so ugly 
A customer to people looking smuggl'y — 
And now along that fatal hill they pass 
Where centuries ago an Oxford bled, 
And proved — too late to save his life, alaa ! — 
That he was ''off his head." 

At last before a lofty brick-built pile 

Sir Peter stopped, and with mysterious smile 

Tinkled a bell that served to bring 

The wire-drawn genius of the ring, 

A species of commercial Samuel Weller — 

To whom Sir Peter, tipping him a wink. 

And something else to drink, 

" Show us the cellar." 

Obsequious bowed the man, and led the way 
Down sundry flights of stairs, where windows small, 
Dappled with mud, let in a dingy ray — 
A dirty tax, if they were taxed at all. 
At length they came into a cellar damp, 
. With venerable cobwebs fringed around, 

A cellar of that stamp 
Which often harbors vintages renowned. 
The feudal Hock, or Burgundy the courtly, 

With sherry, brown or golden. 

Or port, so olden. 
Bereft of body 't is no longer portly — 
But old or otherwise — to be veracious — 
That cob webbed cellar, damp, and dim, and spacious 

Held nothing crusty — but crustaceous. 

Prone on the chilly floor, • 
Five splendid turtles — such a five ! 
Natives of some West Indian shore, 

Were flapping all alive, 



TUB TURTLES 417 

Late landed from the Jolly Planter's yawl — 
A sight whereon the dignitaries fixed 
Their eager eyes, with ecstasy unmixed, 

Like fathers that behold their infants crawl. 

Enjoying every little kick and sprawl. 

Nay — far from fatherly the thoughts they bred, 

Poor losserheads from for Ascension ferried ! 

The Aldermen too plainly wished them dead 
And Aldermanbury'd ! 

'' There ! " cried Sir Peter, with an air 

Triumphant as an ancient victor's, 

And pointing to the creatures rich and rare, 
" There's picters ! 

''Talk of Olympic Games !- They 're not worth mention ; 
The real prize for wrestling is when Jack, 

In Providence or Ascension, 
Can throw a lively turtle on its back ! " 

" Ay ! " cried Sir John, and with a score of nods, 
Thoughtful of classical symposium, 

" There 's food for gods ! 
There 's nectar ! there 's ambrosium ! 
There 's food for Roman emperors to eat — 

0, there had been a treat 
(Those ancient names will sometimes hobble us) 

For Helio-gobble-us ! 

" There were a feast for Alexander's Feast ! 

The real sort — none of your mock or spurious ! *' 

And then he mentioned Aldermen deceased, 

And " Epicurius," 
And how TertuUian had enjoyed such foison ; 
And speculated on that verdigrease 

That is n't poison. 
27 



418 THE TURTLES. 

"Talk of your Spring, and verdure, and all that ! 

Give vie green fat ! 
As for your poets with their groves of myrtles 

And billing turtles, 
Give me, for poetry, them Turtles there, 

A-billing in a bill of faie ! 

*' Of all the things I ever swallow — 
Good, well-dressed turtle beats them hollow ; 
It almost makes me wish, I vow, 
To have tivo stomachs, like a cow ! " 
And, lo ! as with the cud, an inward thrill 
Upheaved his waistcoat and disturbed his frill, 
His mouth was oozing and he worked his jaw — 
*' I almost think that I tjoul^ eat one raw !"" 

And thus, as "inward love breeds outward talk," 
The portly pair continued to discourse ; 
And then — as Gray describes of life's divorce — 
With " longing, lingering look " prepared to walk,- 
Havino; throuo;h one delio;hted sense, at least, 
Enjoyed a sort of Barmecidal feast, 
And with prophetic gestures, strange to see, 
Forestalled the civic banquet yet to be, 
Its callipash and callipee ! 

A pleasant prospect — but, alack ! 
Scarcely each Alderman had turned his back, 
When, seizing on the moment so propitious, 
And having learned that they were so delicious 

To bite and sup, 
From praises so high flown and injudicious, — 

And nothing could be more pernicious ! 
The Turtles fell to work, and ate each other up ! 



TUE DESErvT-BOllN. 419 

Never, from folly or urbanity, 
Praise people thus profusely to their faces, 
Till, quite in love with their own graces, 
They 're eaten up by vanity ! 



THE DESERT-BORN. 

•'Fly to the desert, fly with me." — Lady Hester Stanhope. 

^T WAS in tlie wilds of Lebanon, amongst its barren hills, — > 
To think upon it, even now, my very blood it chills ! — 
My sketch-book spread before me. and my pencil in my hand, 
I gazed upon the mountain range, the red tumultuous sand, 
The plumy palms, the sombre firs, the cedars tall and proud, 
When, lo ! a shadoAV passed across the paper like a cloud, 
And looking up I saw a form, apt figure for the scene. 
Methought I stood in presence of some oriental queen ! 

The turban on her head was white as any driven snow; 
A purple bandalette passed o'er the lofty brow below, 
And thence upon her shoulders fell, by either jewelled ear; 
In yellow folds voluminous she wore her long cachemere ; 
Whilst underneath, with ample sleeves, a Turkish robe of silk 
Enveloped her in drapery the color of new milk ; 
Yd oft it floated wide in front, disclosing underneath 
A gorgeous Persian tunic, rich* with many a broidered wreath, 
Compelled by clasps of costly pearl around her neck to meet, 
[And yellow as the amber were the buskins on her feet ! 

)f course I bowed my lowest bow ; of all the things on earth. 
The reverence due to loveliness, to rank, or ancient birth. 
To power, to wealth, to genius, or to any thing uncommon, 
A man should bend the lowest in a Desert to a Woinaii ! 



420 THE DESERT-BORN. 

Yet some strange influence stronger still, though vague and 

undefined, 
Compelled me, and with magic might gubdued my soul and 

mind ; 
There was a something in her air that drew the spirit nigh, 
Bejond the common witchery that dwells m woman's eye ! 
With reverence deep, like any slave of that peculiar land, 
I bowed my forehead to the earth, and kissed the arid sand ; 
And then I touched her garment's hem, devoutly as a Dervise, 
Predestinated (so I felt) forever to her service. 

Nor was I wrong in auguring thus my fortune from her face ; 
She knew me, seemingly, as well as any of her race ; 
'■'■ Welcome ! " she cried, as I uprose submissive to my feet; 
' ' It was ordained that you and I should in this desert meet ! 
Ay, ages since, before thy soul had burst its prison-bars, 
This interview was promised in the language of the stars ! " 
Then clapping, as the Easterns wont, her all-commanding 

hands, 
A score of mounted Arabs came fast spurring o'er the sands, 
Nor reined they up their foaming steeds till in my very face 
They blew the breath impetuous, and panting from the race. 

" Fear naught," exclaimed the radiant one, as I sprang off 

aloof ; 
"Thy precious frame need never fear a blow from horse's hoof! 
Thy natal star was fortunate as any orb of birth, 
And fate hath held in store for thee the rarest gift of earth." 
Then turning to the dusky men, that humbly waited near, 
She cried, " Go bring the Beautiful — for, lo! the Man is 



here ! 



)j 



Off went the obsequious train as swift as Arab hoofs could flee, 

But Fancy fond outraced them all, with bridle loose and 

free, 



THE DESEKT-BGRN. 421 

And brought me back, for love's attack, some fair Circassian 

bride, 
Or Georgian girl, the Harem's boast and fit for Sultan's side j 
Methought I lifted up her veil, and saw dark ejes beneath, 
Mild as gazelle's, a snowy brow, ripe lips, and pearly teeth, 
A swanlike neck, a shoulder round, full bosom, and a waist 
Not too compact, and rounded limbs, to oriental taste. 

Methought — but here, alas ! alas ! the airy dream to blight, 
Behold the Arabs leading up a Mare of milky white ! 
To tell the truth, without reserve, evasion, or remorse, 
The last of creatures in my love or liking is a horse ; 
AYhether in early youth some kick untimely laid me flat, 
Whether from born antipathy, as some dislike a cat, 
I never yet could bear the kind, from Meux's giant steeds 
Down to those little bearish cubs of Shetland's shaggy breeds: 
As for a war-horse, he that can bestride one is a hero, — 
Merely to look at such a sight my courage sinks to zero. 
With lightning eyes, and thunder mane, and hurricanes of 

legs. 
Tempestuous tail — to picture him description vainly begs ! 
His fiery nostrils send forth clouds of smoke instead of breath ; 
Naj, was it not a horse that bore the grisly shape of Death '] 
Judge then how cold an ague-fit of agony was mine 
To see the mistress of my fate, imperious, make a sign 
To which my own foreboding soul the cruel sense supplied : 
" Mount, happy man, and 7^2i?i away with your Arabian 

bride!" 
Grim was the smile, and tremulous the voice with which 1 

spoke, 
Like any one's when jesting with a subject not a joke, 
So men have trifled with the axe before the fatal stroke. 

" Lady, if mine had been the luck in Yorkshire to be bom 
Or any of its ridings^ this would be a blessed morn ; 



422 THE DESERT-BORN. 

Butj hapless one! I cannot ride: there's sometliing in a horse 
That I can always honor, but I never could endorse ; 
To speak still more commercially, in riding I am quite 
Averse to running long, and apt to be paid off at sight : 
In legal phrase, for every class to understand me still, 
I never \Yas in stirrups yet a tenant but at will ; 
Or, if you please, in artist terms, I never went a-straddle 
On any horse without ' a want of keeping ' in the saddle. 
In short," and here I blushed, abashed, and held my head 

full low, 
" I 'm one of those whose infant ears have heard the chimes 

of Bow!" 

The lady smiled, as houris smile, adow^n from Turkish skies, 
And beams of cruel kindness shone within her hazel eyes ; 
•' Stranger," she said, "or rather say, my nearest, dearest 

friend. 
There 's something in your eyes, your air, and that high 

instep's bend, 
That tells me you 're of Arab race, — whatever spot of earth, 
Cheapside, or Bow, or Stepney, had the honor of your birth, 
The East it is your country ! Like an infant changed at 

nurse 
By fairies, you have undergone a nurtureship perverse ; 
But this — these desert sands — these palms, and cedars 

weaving wild, 
All, all, adopt thee as their own — an oriental child; — 
The cloud may hide the sun a while, but soon or late, no doubt, 
The spirit of your ancestry will burst and sparkle out ! 
I read the starry characters" — and, lo! 'tis written there, 
Thou wort foredoomed of sons of men to ride upon this Mare, 
A Mare till now was never backed by one of mortal mould ; 
Hark! how she neighs, as if for thee she knew that she wa'? 

foaled!" 



THE DESERT-BORX. 423 

And truly — I devoutly wished a blast of the simoom 

Had stifled lier ! — the mare herself appeared to mock my 

doom; 
With many a bound she capered round and round me like a 

dance ; 
I feared indeed some wild caress would end the fearful prance, 
And felt myself, and saw myself — the fantasy was horrid ! 
Like old Redgauntlet, with a shoe imprinted on my forehead ! 
On bended knees, with bowing head, and hands upraised in 

prayer, 
I begged the turbaned"Sultaness the issue to forbear; 
I painted weeping orphan babes, around a widowed wife, 
And drew my death as vividly as others draw from life ; 
'' Behold," I said, " a simple man, for such high feats unfit, 
Who never yet has learned to know the crupper from the bit, 
Whereas the boldest horsemanship, and first equestrian skill, 
Would well be tasked to bend so wild a creature to the will." 
Alas ! alas ! 'twas all in vain, to supplicate and kneel. 
The quadruped could not have been more cold to my appeal ! 

" Fear nothing," said the smiling Fate, " when human help 
is vain, 
k Spirits shall by thy stirrups fly, and fairies guide the rein ; 
Just glance at yonder animal, her perfect shape remark, 
And in thy breast at once shall glow the oriental spark ! 
As for thy spouse and tender babes, no Arab roams the wild 
But for a Mare of such descent would barter wife and child." 

" Nay, then," cried I — (Heaven shrive the lie ! ) ''to tel] 

the secret truth, 
'T was my unhappy fortune once to over-ride a youth ! 

I A playful child, — so full of life ! — a little fiiir-haired boy, 
His sister's pet, his father's hope, his mother's darling joy ! 
Ah me ! the frantic shriek she gave ! I hear it ringing now 1 



124 THE DESERT-BORN. 

A solemn compact, deeply sworn, to witness my remorse, 
That never more these limbs of mine should mount on living^ 
horse ! " 



I 



G ood Heaven ! to see the angry glance that flashed upon 



me now 



4 



A chill ran all my marrow through — the drops were on ray 

brow ! 
I knew my doom, and stole a glance at that accursed Mare, 
And there she stood, with nostrils wide, that snuffed the 

sultry air. 
How lion-like she lashed her flanks with her abundant tail ; 
While on her neck the stormy mane kept tossing to the gale ; 
How fearfully she rolled her eyes between the earth and sky, 
As if in wild uncertainty to gallop or to fly ! 
While with her hoof she scooped the sand as if before she gave 
My plunge into eternity she meant to dig my grave ! 

And I, that ne'er could calmly bear a horse's ears at play — 
Or hear without a yard of jump his shrill and sudden neigh — 
Whose foot within a stable-door had never stood an inch — 
Whose hand to pat a living steed would feel an awful flinch, — 
I, that had never thrown a leg across a pony small, 
To scour the pathless desert on the tallest of the tall ! 
For, ! it is no fable, but at every look I cast. 
Her restless legs seemed twice as long as when I saw them last ! 

In agony I shook — and yet, although congealed by fears, 
My blood was boiling fa'st, to judge from noises in my ears ; 
I gasped as if in vacuo, and, thrilling with despair. 
Some secret demon seemed to pass his fingers through my hair. 
I could not stir — I could not speak — I could not even see — 
A sudden mist rose up between that awful Mare and me, — 
I tried to pray, but found no words, though ready ripe to weep, 
No tear would flow, o'er every sense a swoon began to creep, 



THE DESERT-BORX. 425 

Wlien, lo ! to bring my horrid fate at once unto the brunt, 
IVo Arabs seized me from behind, two others in the front, 
And ere a muscle could be strung to try the strife forlorn, 
I found myself, Mazeppa-like, upon the Desert- Born ! 

Terrific was the neigh she gave, the moment that my weiglit 
Was felt upon her back, as if exulting in her freight ; 
Whilst dolefully I heard a voice that set each nerve ajar, — 
'■ Off with the bridle — quick ! — and leave his guidance to 
his star ! " 

"Allah ! il Allah ! " rose the shout, and starting with a bound, 
The dreadful Creature cleared at once a dozen yards of 

ground ; 
And grasping at her mane with both my cold convulsive 

hands. 
Away we flew — away ! away ! across the shifting sands ! 
My eyes were closed in utter dread of such a fearful race, 
But yet by certain signs I knew we went no earthly pace, 
For turn whichever way we might, the wind with equal force 
Rushed like a torrid hurricane still adverse to our course — ■ 
One moment close at hand I heard the roaring Syrian Sea, 
The next it only murmured like the humming of a bee ! 
And when I dared at last to glance across the wild immense, 
0, ne er shall I forget the whirl that met the dizzy sense ! 
What seemed a little sprig of fern, ere lips could reckon 

twain, 
A palm of forty cubits high, we passed it on the plain ! 
What tongue could tell, — wdiat pencil paint, — what pen 

describe the ride 7 
Now off — now on — now up — now down, — and flung 

from side to side ! 
[ tried to speak, but had no voice, to soothe her with its tone ; 
My scanty breath was jolted out with many a sudden groan, 



.^20 THE DESERT-BORN. 

My joints were racked — my back was strained, so tirmly 1| 

had clung — 
My nostrils gushed, and 'thrice my teeth had bitten through 

my tongue — 
When, lo ! — flirewell all hope of life ! — she turned and faced 

the rocks, — 
None but a flying horse could clear thosi3 monstrous granite 

blocks ! 
So thought I, — but I little knew the desert pride and fire, 
Derived from a most deer-like dam, and lion-hearted sire ; 
Little I guessed the energy of muscle, blood and bone; 
Bound after bound, with eager springs, she cleared each 

massive stone ; — 
Nine mortal leaps were passed before a huge gray rock at 

lensfth 
Stood planted there as if to dare her utmost pitch of strength ; 
My time was come ! that granite heap my monument of 

death ! 
She paused, she snorted loud and long, and drew a fuller 

breath ; ' 
Nine strides, and then a louder beat that warned me of her 

spring, 
I felt her rising in the air like eagle on the wing — 
But, ! the crash ! — the hideous shock ! — the million sparks 

around ! 
Her hindmost hoofs had struck the crest of that prodigious 

mound ! 
Wild shrieked the headlong Desert-Born — or else 't was 

demons' mirth, 
One second more, and Man and Mare rolled breathless on 

the earth ! 

* * :^ * * * 

FTow long it was I cannot tell ere I revived to sense 
And then but to endure the pangs of agony inteiise : 



THE DESERT-BORN. 427 

For over me lay powerless, and still as any stone, 

The Corse that erst had so much fire, strength, spirit of its own. 

My heart was still — my pulses stopped — midway 'twixt life 

and death, 
With pain unspeakable I fetched the fragment of a breath, 
Not vital air enough to frame one short and feeble sigh, 
Yet even that I loathed because it would not let me die. 

! slowly, slowly, slowly on, from starry night till morn, 
Time flapped along, with leaden wings, across that waste 

forlorn, 

1 cursed the hour that brought me first within this world of 

'strife — 
A sore and heavy sin it is to scorn the gift of life — 
But A-ho hath felt a horse's weight oppress his laboring 

breast 7 
W)/ any who has had. like me, the Night Mare on his 

chest. 



LOVE LANE. 

If I should love a maiden more. 
And woo her every hope to crown, 
I 'd love her all the country o'er, 
But not declare it out of town. 

One even, by a mossy bank, 

That held a hornet's nest within, 

To Ellen on my knees I sank, — 

How snakes will twine around the shin ! 

A bashful fear my soul unnerved, 
And gave my heart a backward tug ; 
Nor was I cheered when she observed, 
Whilst I was silent, " What a slug ! " 

At length my offer I preferred, 
And Hope a kind reply forebode — 



428 LOVE LANE. 

Alas ! the only sound I heard 
Was, '' What a horrid ugly toad ! " 
I vowed to give her all my heart, 
To love her till my life took leave, 
And painted all a lover's smart — 
Except a wasp gone up his sleeve ! 

But when I ventured to abide 

Her father's and her mother's grants — 

Sudden she started up and cried, 

" dear ! I am all over ants ! " 

Nay, when beginning to beseech 
The cause that led to my. rebuff, 
The answer was as strange a speech — 
A " Daddy-Longlegs, sure enough ! '' 

I spoke of fortune — house, — and lands, 
And still renewed the warm attack, — • 
'T is vain to ofier ladies hands 
That have a spider on the back ! 

'T is vain to talk of hopes and fears, 
And hope the least reply to wan, 
From any maid that stops her ears 
In dread of earwigs creeping in ! 

'T is vain to call the dearest names 
Whilst stoats and weasels startle by — • 
As vain to talk of mutual flames 
To one with glowworms in her eye I 

What checked me in my fond address, 
And knocked each pretty image down ? 
What stopped my Ellen's faltering yes 1 
A caterpillar on her gown ! 

To list to Philomel is sweet — ■ 
To see the moon rise silver-pale,—-- 



DOMESTIC POEMS. 429 

Rut not to kneel at lady^s feet 
And crusli ,a rival in a snail ! 

Sweet is the eventide, and kind 
Its zephyr, balmy as the south : 
But sweeter still to speak your mind 
Without a chafer in your mouth ! 

At last, emboldened by my bliss, 

Still fickle Fortune played me foul, 

For when I strove to snatch a kiss 

She screamed — by proxy, through an owl ! 

Then, lovers, doomed to life or death, 
Shun moonlight, twilight, lanes and bats, 
Lest you should have in self-same breath 
To bless your fate — and curse the gnats ! 



DOMESTIC POEMS. 



**It's hame, hauie, hame." — A. Cunningham. 
"There 's no place like home." — Ci.ari. 

1. 

HYMENEAL RETROSPECTIONS. 

Kate ! my dear partner, through joy and through strife! 

Wlien I look back at Hymen's dear day, 
Not a lovelier bride ever changed to a w4fe. 

Though you 're now so old, wizened, and gray . 

Those eyes, then, were stars, shining rulers of fate ! 

But as liquid as stars in a pool : 
Though now they're so dim, they appear, my dear Kat^ 

Just like gooseberries boiled for a fool ! 

That brow was like marble, so smooth and so fair ; 
Though it 's wrinkled so crookedly now, 



I 



ioO DOMESTIC POEMS. 



1 



.Is if Time, when those furrows were made by the share, 
Had been tipsy whilst driving his plough ! 

Your nose, it was such as the sculptors all chose, 

When a Yenus demanded their skill ; 
Though now it can hardly be reckoned a nose. 

But a sort of Poll-Parroty bill ! 

Your mouth, it was then quite a bait for the bees, 

Such a nectar there hung on each lip ; 
Though now it has taken that lemon-like squeeze, 

Not a blue-bottle comes for a sip ! 

Your chin, it was one of Love's favorite haunts, 
Erom its dimple he could not get loose ; 

Though now the neat hand of a barber it wants, 
Or a singe, like the breast of a goose ! 

How rich were those locks, so abundant and full, 

With their ringlets of auburn so deep ! 
Though now they look only hke frizzles of woof, 

By a bramble torn off from a sheep ! 

That neck, not a swan could excel it in grace, 
While in whiteness it vied with your arms : 

Though now a grave 'kerchief you propc^rly place, 
To conceal that scrag-end of your charms ! 

Your figure was tall, then, and perfectly straight, 
Though it now has two twists from upright — 

But bless you ! still bless you ! my partner! my Kate ! 
Though you be such a perfect old fright ! 



II. 

The sun was slumbering in the west, my daily lalwrs past ; 
On Anna's soft and gentle breast my head reclined at last ; 



DOMESTIC POEMS. 431 

The darkness closed around, so dear to fond congenial souls ; 
And thus she murmured at my ear, " My bve. we 're out of 
coals ! 

" That Mister Bond has called again, insisting on his rent ; 
And all the Todds are coming up to see us, out of Kent ; 
I quite forgot to tell you John has had a tipsy fall ; — 
I 'm sure there 's something going on with that vile Mary 
Hall! 

" Miss Bell has bought the sweetest silk, and I have bought 

the rest — 
Of course, if Ave go out of town, Southend will be the best. 
I really think the Jones's house would be the thing for us ; 
I think I told you Mrs. Pope had parted with her nus — 

" Cook, by the way, came up to-day, to bid me suit myself — 
And, what d' ye think 7 the rats have gnawed the victuals 

on the shelf 
And, Lord ! there 's such a letter come, inviting you to fight ! 
Of course you don't intend to go — God bless you, dear, 

good-night ! " 



HI. 

PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON, AGED TIIKEE YEARS AND 
FIVE MONTHS. 

Thou happ}^, happy elf! 
(But stop, — first let me kiss away that tear) — 

Thou tiny image of myself I 
(My love, he's poking peas into his ear !) 
Thou merry, laughing sprite ! 
With si)irits feather-light, 
Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin — 
(Good heavens! the child is swallowing a pin !) 



132 DOMESTIC POEMS. 

Thou little tricksy Puck ! 
With antic toys so funnily bestuck, 
Light as the singing bird that wings the air — 
(The door ! the door! he '11 tumble down the stal* 

Thou darling of thy sire ! 
(Why, Jane, he '11 set his pinafore afire !) 

Thou imp of mirth and joy ! 
In Love's dear chain so strong and bright a link, 
Thou idol of thy parents — (Drat the boy ! 

There goes my ink !) 

Thou cherub — but of earth ; 
Fit playfellow for Fays, by moonlight pale, 

In harmless sport and mirth, 
(That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail !) 

Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey 
From every blossom in the world that blows, 

Singing in youth's elysium ever sunny, 
(Another tumble! — that 's his precious nose !) 

Thy father's pride and hope ! 
(He '11 break the mirror with that skipping-rope !) 
With pure heart newly stamped from Nature's mint- 
(Where did he learn that squint?) 

Thou young domestic dove ! 
(He '11 have that jug oif, with another shove !) 

Dear nursling of the Hymeneal nest I 

(Are those torn clothes his best T) 

Little epitome of man ! 
(He '11 climb upon»the table, that 's his plan !) 
Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life — 

(He 's got a knife !) 

Thou enviable being ! 
No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, 



DOMESTIC POEMS. 43 

Play on, play on^ 

My elfin John ! 
Toss the light ball — bestride the stick — 
(I knew so many cakes would make him sick !) 
With fa,ncies, buoyant as the thistle-down, 
Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk, 

With many a lamb-like frisk, 
(He 's got the scissors, snipping at your go^vn!) 

Thou pretty opening rose ! 
(Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose !) 
Balmy and breathing music like the South, 
(He really brings my heart into my mouth !) 
Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as its star, — - 
(I wish that window had an iron bar !) 
Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove, — 

(I '11 tell you what, my love, 
I cannot write, unless he 's sent above ! ) 



Q 



IV. 

A SEREi!^ADE. 

" Lullaby, 0, lullaby ! " 
Thus I heard a father cry, 

"Lullaby, 0, lullaby! 
The brat will never shut an eye; 
Hither come, some power divine! 
Close his lids, or open mine ! " 

" Lullaby, 0, lullaby ! 
. What the devil makes him cry % 

Lullaby, 0, lullaby ! 
Still he stares — I wonder why, 
Why are not the sons of earth 
Blind, like puppies, from the birth ? " 

28 



iM A I'J.AIN DIRKCTION. 

"Lullaby, 0, lullaby!" 
Thus I heard the father cry : 

'' Lullaby, 0, lullaby ! 
Mary, you must come and try ! — 
Hush, 0, hush, for mercy's sake — 
The more I sing, the more you wake ; " 

"Lullaby, 0, lullaby! 
Fie, you little creature, fie ! 

Lullaby, 0, lullaby ! 
Is no poppy-syrup nigh ? 
Give him some, or give him all, 
I am nodding to his fall ! " 

"Lullaby, 0, lullaby! 
Two such nights and I shall die ! 

Lullaby, 0, lullaby ! 
He '11 be bruised, and so shall I, — 
How can I from bed-posts keep, 
When I 'm walking in my sleep I " 

" Lullaby, 0, lullaby ! 
Sleep his very looks deny — - 

Lullaby, 0, lullaby ! 
Nature soon will stupefy — 
My nerves relax, — my eyes grow dim - 
Who 's that fallen — me or him? " 



A PLAIN DIRECTION. 

" Do you never deviate 1" — John Bull. 

In London once I lost my way in fiiring to and fro, 
And asked a little ragged boy the way that I should go ; 
He gave a nod, and then a wink, and told me to get there 
•' Straight down the Crooked Lane, and all round the Square." 



A PLAIN DIRECTION. 436 

I boxed his little saucy ears, and then away I strode ; 
But since I 've found that weary path is quite a common roadi 
Utopia is a pleasant place, but how shall I get there ? 
"Straight down the Crooked Lane, and all round the Square.'^ 

I 've read about a famous town that drove a famous trade, 
Where Whittington walked up and found a fortune ready made. 
The very streets are paved with gold ; but how shall I get 

there 7 
'• Straight down the Crooked Lane, and all round the Square." 

I 've read about a Fairy Land, in some romantic tale. 
Where dwarfs if good are sure to thrive and wicked giants fail ; 
My wish is great, my shoes are strong, but how shall I get 

there 7 
" Straight down the Crooked Lane, and all round the Square." 

I 've heard about some happy isle, where every man is free, 
And none can lie in bonds for life for want of L. S. D. 

! that 's the land of Liberty ! but how shall I get there? 
" Straight down the Crooked Lane, and all round the Square." 

1 've dreamt about some blessed spot, beneath the blessed sky, 
Where bread and justice never rise too dear for folks to buy. 
It 's cheaper than the Ward of Cheap, but how shall I get 

there 7 
'^ Straight down the Crooked Lane, and all round the Square." 

They say there is an ancient house, as pure as it is old, 
Where members always speak their minds, and votes are 

never sold. 
I 'm fond of all antiquities, but how shall I get there 7 
'• Straight down the Crooked Lane, and all round the Square." 

They say there is a royal court maintained in noble state. 
Where every able man, and good, is certain to be great ! 
I 'm very fond of seeing sights, but how shall I get there 1 
*' Straight down the Crooked Lane, and all round the Square." 



436 EQUESTRIAN COURTSHIP. 

They say there is a temple too, where Christians come to pray, 
But canting knaves and hypocrites and bigots keep away. 
! that 's the parish church for me ! but how shall I get there ? 
" Straight down the Crooked Lane, and all round the Square." 

They say there is a garden fair, that 's haunted by the dovCj 
Where love of gold doth ne'er eclipse the golden light of love ; 
The place must be a Paradise, but how shall I get there ] 
" Straight down the Crooked Lane, and all round the Square." 

I 've heard there is a famous land for public spirit known — • 
Whose patriots love its interests much better than their own. 
The Land of Promise sure it is ! but how shall I get there 7 
*' Straight down the Crooked Lane, and all round the Square." 

I 've read about a fine estate, a mansion large and strong ; 
A view all over Kent and back, and going for a song. 
George Robins knows the very spot, but how shall I get there? 
"Straight down the Crooked Lane, and all round the Square." 

I Ve heard there is a company all formal and enrolled, 
Will take your smallest silver coin and give it back in gold. 
Of course the ofiice-door is mobbed, but how shall I get there 1 
" Straight down the Crooked Lane, and all round the Square." 

I've heard about a pleasant land, where omelettes grow on trees, 
And roasted pigs run crying out, " Come eat me, if yoii 

please." 
My appetite is rather keen, but how shall I get there ] 
" Straight down the Crooked Lane, and all round the Square.'* 



EQUESTRIAN COURTSHIP. 

It was a young maiden went forth to ride, 
And there was a wooer to pace by her side ; 
His horse was so little, and hers so high. 
He thought his angel was up in the sky. 



AN OPEN QUESTION. 437 

His love was great, though his wit was small ; 
He bade her ride easy — and that was all. 
The very horses began to neigh, — 
Because their betters had naught to saj. 

Thej rode by elm, and they rode by oak, 

They rode by a church-yard, and then he spoke : — 

'' My pretty maiden, if you '11 agree 

You shall always ramble through life Avith me." 

The damsel answered him never a word, 

But kicked the gray mare, and away she spurred. 

The wooer still followed behind the jade. 

And enjoyed — li^e a wooer — the dust she made. 

They rode through moss, and they rode through moor,— » 

The gallant behind and the lass before ; — 

At last they came to a miry place, 

And there the sad wooer gave up the chase. 

Quoth he, " If my nag were better to rido, 

I 'd follow her over the world so wide 

0, it is not my love that begins to fail, 

But I 've lost the last glimpse of the gray mare's tail ! " 



AN OPEN QUESTION. 

♦ T5 the king's highway that we are in, and in this way it is that thou 
hx-f^ «rKt.t-«i' the lions." — Buxyan. 

What ! shut the Gardens ! lock the latticed gate ! 

Refuse the shillins; and the fellow's ticket ! 
And hang a wooden notice up to state, 

" On Sundays no admittance at this wicket ! " 
The Birds, the Beasts, and all the Reptile race, 

Denied to friends and visitors till Monday ! 
Now, really, this appears the common case 



138 AN OPEN QUESTION. 

Of putting too much Sabbath into Sunday — 
But what is your opinion, Mrs Grundy 7 

The Gardens, — ^so unlike the ones we dub 
Of Tea, wherein the artisan carouses, — 

Mere shrubberies without one drop of shrub, — 

Wherefore should they be closed like public-houses ? 

No ale is vended at the wild Deer's Head, — 
No rum — nor gin — not even of a Monday — 

The Lion is not carved — or gilt — or red, 
And does not send out porter of a Sunday — 
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy 7 

The Bear denied ! the Leopard under locks ! 

As if his spots would give contagious fevers ! 
The Beaver close as hat within its box ; 

So different from other Sunday beavers ! 
The Birds invisible — the Gnaw- way Rats — 

The Seal hermetically sealed till Monday — 
The Monkey tribe — the Family of Cats, — 

We visit other families on Sunday — 

But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy 7 

What is the brute profanity that shocks 
The super-sensitively serious feeling 7 

The Kangaroo — is he not orthodox 

To bend his legs, the way he does, in kneeling I 

Was strict Sir Andrew, in his Sabbath coat, 
Struck all a-heap to see a Coatl mundi ? 

Or did the Kentish Plumtree faint to note 
The Pelicans presenting bills on Sunday 7 — 
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy 7 

What feature has repulsed the serious set 7 
What error in the bestial birth or breeding. 

To put their tender fancies on the fret 7 

One thing is plain — it is not in the feeding ! 



AN OPEN QUESTION. 439 

Some stiffish people think that smoking joints 
Are cornal sins 'twixt Saturday and Monday — 

But then the beasts are pious on these points, 
Eor they all eat cold dinners on a Sunday — 
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy 7 

What change comes o'er the spirit of the place, 
As if transmuted by some spell organic 7 

Turns fell Hyena of the Ghoulish race 7 

The Snake, 'pro tempore, the true Satanic 7 

Do Irish minds. — (whose theory allows 

That now and then Good Friday falls on Monday) — 

Do Irish minds suppose that Indian Cows 

Are wicked Bulls of Bashan on a Sunday 7 — 
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy '^ 

There are some moody Fellows, not a few, 
Who, turned by Nature with a gloomy bias, 

Renounce black devils to adopt the blue, 

And think when they are dismal they are pious : 

Is 't possible that Pug's untimely fun 

Has sent the brutes to Coventry till Monday — 

Or perhaps some animal, no serious one. 
Was overheard in laughter on a Sunday — 
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy 7 

What dire offence have serious Fellows found 

To raise their spleen against the Regent's spinney? 

Were charitable boxes handed round. 

And would not Guinea Pigs subscribe their guinea ? 

Perchance, the Demoiselle refused to moult 

The feathers in her head — at least till Monday ; 

Or did the Elephant, unseemly, bolt 

A tract presented to be read on Sunday? — 
But Avhat is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy ? 



440 AN OPEX QUESTION. 

At whom did Leo struggle to get loose ] 

Who mourns through Monkey tricks his damaged clothing "j 
Who has been hissed by the Canadian Goose 7 

On Avhom did Llama spit in utter loathing ? 
Some Smithfield Saint did jealous feelings tell 

To keep the Puma out of sight till Monday, 
Because he preyed extempore as well 

As certain wild Itinerants on Sunday — 

But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy 7 

To me it seems that in the oddest way 

(Begging the pardon of each rigid Socius) 
Our would-be Keepers of the Sabbath-day 

Are like the Keepers of the brutes ferocious — 
As soon the Tiger might expect to stalk 

About the grounds from Saturday till Monday, 
As any harmless man to take a walk. 

If Saints could clap him in a cage on Sunday — 

But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy 1 

In spite of all hypocrisy can spin, 

As surely as I am a Christian scion, 
I cannot think it is a mortal sin — 

(Unless he 's loose) — to look upon a lion. 
I really think that one may go, perchance, 

To see a bear, as guiltless as on Monday — 
(That is, provided that he did not dance) — 

Bruin 's no worse than bakin' on a Sunday — 

But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy 7 

In spite of all the fanatic compiles, 

I cannot think the day a bit diviner, 
Because no children, with forestalling smiles, 

Throng, happy, to the gates of Eden Minor -— 
It is not plain, to my poor fiiith at least. 

That what we christen '' Natural " on Monday, 



AN OPEN QUESTION. 441 

The wondrous history of Bkd and Beast, 
Can be unnatural because it's Sunday — 
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy 7 

Whereon is sinful fantasy to work ? 

The Dove, the winged Columbus of man's haven? 
The tender Love-Bird — or the filial Stork 7 

The punctual Crane — the providential Raven 7 
The Pelican whose bosom feeds her young ? 

Nay, must we cut from Saturday till Monday 
That feathered marvel with a human tongue, 

Because she does not preach upon a Sunday — 

But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy 7 

The busy Beaver — that sagacious beast ! 

The Sheep that owned an Oriental Shepherd — 
That Desert-ship, the Camel of the East, 

The horned Rhinoceros — the spotted Leopard — 
The Creatures of the Great Creator's hand 
. Are surely sights for better days than Monday — 
The Elephant, although he wears no band, 

Has he no sermon in his trunk for Sunday 7 — 

But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy 7 

What harm if men who burn the midnight-oil. 
Weary of frame, and worn and wan of feature, 

Seek once a week their spirits to assoil. 

And snatch a glimpse of " Animated Nature " 7 

Better it were if, in his best of suits. 

The artisan, who goes to work on Monday, 

Should spend a leisure-hour amongst the brutes, 
Than make a beast of his own self on Sunday — 
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy 7 

Why, zounds ! what raised so Protestant a fuss 
COmit the zounds ! for which I make apology) 



442 MORNING MEDITATIONS. 

But that the Papists, like some Fellows, thus 

Had somehow mixed up Dens with their Theology 1 

Is Brahma's Bull — a Hindoo god at home — 
A Papal Bull to be tied up till Monday — 

Or Leo, like his namesake, Pope of Bome, 

That there is such a dread of them on Sunday — 
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy ? 

Spirit of Kant ! have we not had enough 

To make Beligion sad, and sour, and snubbish, 

But Saints Zoological must cant their stuff, 

As vessels cant their ballast — rattling rubbish ! 

Once let the sect, triumphant to their text, 
Shut Nero up from Saturday till Monday, 

And sure as fate they will deny us next 
To see the Dandelions on a Sunday — 
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy 7 



MORNING MEDITATIONS. 

Let Taylor preach, upon a morning breezy, 
How w^ell to rise while nights and larks are flying 
For my part, getting up seems not so easy 
By half as lying. 

What if the lark does carol in the sky, 
Soaring beyond the sight to find him out — 
Wherefore am I to rise at such a fly 7 
I 'm not a trout. 

Talk not to me of bees and such-like hums, 
The smell of sweet herbs at the morning prime — 
Only lie long enough, and bed becomes 
A bed of time. 



MORN IN (3 MEDITATIONS. .4-13 

To me Dan Phoebus and his car are naught, 
His steeds that paw impatiently about, — 
Let them enjoy, say I, as horses ought. 
The first turn-out ! 

Right beautiful the dewy maids appear 
Besprinkled by the rosy-fingered girl ; 
What then, — if I prefer my pillow-beer 
To early pearl 7 

My stomach is not ruled by other men's. 
And, grumbling for a reason, quaintly begs 
Wherefore should master rise before the hens 
Have laid their eirgs 7 



■'oo" 



Why from a comfortable pillow start 
To see faint flushes in the east awaken 7 
A fig, say I, for any streaky part, 
Excepting bacon. 

An early riser Mr. Gray has drawn, 
Who used to haste the dewy grass among, 
'' To meet the sun upon the upland lawn," — 
Well — he died young. 

With charwomen such early hours agree, 
And sweeps that earn betimes their bit and sup ; 
But I 'm no climbing boy, and need not be 
All up — all up ! 

So here I lie, my morning calls deferring. 
Till something nearer to the stroke of noon ; — 
A man that 's fond precociously of stirrings 
Must be a spoon. 



i44 A BLACK JOB. 



A BLACK JOB. 



** No doubt the pleasure is as great 
Of being cheated as to cheat." — Ucdibras. 

The historj of human-kind to trace 

Since Eve — the first of dupes — our doom unriddled 
A certain portion of the human race 

Has certainly a taste for being diddled. 

Witness the famous Mississippi dreams ! 

A rage that time seems only to redouble — 
The Banks, Joint- Stocks, and all the flimsy schemes, 

For rolling in Pactolian streams, 
That cost our modern rogues so little trouble. 
No matter what, — to pasture cows on stubble, 

To twist sea-sand into a solid rope, 
To make French bricks and fancy bread of rubble, 
Or light with gas the whole celestial cope — 

Only propose to blow a bubble, 
And, Lord ! what hundreds will subscribe for soap 1 

Soap ! it reminds me of a little tale. 

Though not a pig's, the hawbuck's glory, 
When rustic games and merriment prevail — 

But here 's my story : 
Oi>3e on a time — no matter when — 
A knot of very charitable men 
Set up a Philanthropical Society, 
Professing on a certain plan 
To benefit the race of man. 
And in particular that dark variety, 
Which some suppose inferior — as in vermin, 

The sable is to ermine. 
As smut to flour, as coal to alabaster. 

As craws to swans, as soot to driven snow, 



A BLACK JOB. 445 

As blacking, or as ink to '' milk below " 
Or jet, a better simile to show, 
As ragman's dolls to images in plaster ! 

However, as is usual in our city, 

The J had a sort of managing Committee, 

A board of grave, responsible Directors — 
A Secretary, good at pen and ink — 
A Treasurer, of course, to keep the chink, 

And quite an army of Collectors ! 
Not merely male, but female duns. 

Young, old, and middle-aged — of all degrees — 
With many of those persevering ones. 

Who mite by mite would beg a cheese ! 
And what might be their aim ? 

To rescue Afric's sable sons from fetters — 
To save their bodies from the burnino- shame 

Of branding with hot letters — 
Their shoulders from the cowhide's bloody strokes, 

Their necks from iron yokes ? 
To end or mitigate the ills of slavery. 
The Planter's avarice, the Driver's knavery ? 
To school the heathen negroes and enlighten 'em, 

To polish up and brighten 'em. 
And make them worthy of eternal bliss ? 
Why, no — the simple end and aim was this — 
Reading a well-known proverb much amiss — 
To wash and whiten 'em ! 

They looked so ugly in their sable hides ; 

So dark, so dingy, like a grubby lot 
Of sooty sweeps, or colliers, and besides, 

However the poor elves 

Might wash themselves, 



446 A BLACK JOB. 

Nobody knew if they were clean or not — 
On Nature's fairness they were quite a blot ! 
Not to forget more serious complaints 
That even while they joined in pious hymn, 
So black they were and grim. 
In face and limb. 
- They looked like Devils, though they sang like Saints ! 

The thing was undeniable ! 
They wanted washing ! not that slight ablution 
To which the sldn of the white man is liable, 
Merely removing transient pollution — 
But good, hard, honest, energetic rubbing 
And scrubbing, 
Sousing each sooty frame from heels to head 
With stiflf, strong saponaceous lather. 
And pails of water — hottish rather, 
But not so boiling as to turn 'em red ! 

So spoke the philanthropic man 

Who laid, and hatched, and nursed the plan — 

And, ! to view its glorious consummation ! 
The brooms and mops, 
The tubs and slops. 

The baths and brushes in full operation ! 
To see each Crow, or Jim, or John, 
Go in a raven and come out a swan ! 

While fair as Cavendishes, Vanes, and Russels, 
Black Venus rises from the soapy surge, 
And all the little Nio;o;erlino;s emerfje 

DO O O 

As lily-white as mussels. 

Sweet was the vision — but, alas ! 

However in prospectus bright and sunny, 
To bring such visionary scenes to pass 

One thing was requisite, and that was — money ! 



A BLACK JOB. 447 

Money, that pays the laundress and her bills, 
For socks, and collars, shirts, and frills, 
Cravats, and kerchiefs — money, without which 
The Negroes must remain as dark as pitch ; 

A thing to make all Christians sad and shivery, 
To think of millions of immortal souls 
Dwelling in bodies black as coals, 

And living — so to speak — in Satan's livery ! 

Money — the root of evil — dross and stuff ! 

But, ! how happy ought the rich to feel, 
Whose means enabled them to give enough 

To blanch an African from head to heel ! 
How blessed — yea, thrice blessed — to subscribe 

Enough to scour a tribe ! 
While he whose fortune was at best a brittle one. 
Although he gave but pence, how sweet to know 
He helped to bleach a Hottentot's great toe. 
Or little one ! 

Moved by this logic, or appalled, 

' To persons of a certain turn so proper, 
The money came when called, 
In silver, gold, and copper, 

Presents from " friends to blacks," or foes to whites, 
''Trifles," and '' offerings," and " widow's mites," 
Plump legacies, and yearly benefactions. 
With other gifts 
And charitable lifts, 
Printed in lists and quarterly transactions. 
As thus — Elisha Brettel, 
An iron kettle. 
The Dowager Lady Scannel, 
A piece of flannel. 
Rebecca Pope, 
A. bar of soap. 



448 A BLACK JOB. 

The Misses HoTvels, 
Half-a-dozen towels. 
The Master Rush's 
Two scrubbing-brushes. 
Mr. T. Groom, 
A stable-broom. 
And Mrs. Grubb, 
A tub. 

Great were the sums collected ! 

And great results in consequence expected. 

But somehow, in the teeth of all endeavor, 

According to reports 

At yearly courts, 
The Blacks, confound them ! were as black as ever ! 

Yes ! spite of all the water soused -aloft, 
Soap, plain and mottled, hard and soft. 
Soda and pearlash, hucka,back and sand, 
Brooms, brushes, palm of hand, 
And scourers in the ofl&ce strong and clever, 

In spite of all the tubbing, rubbing, scrubbing, 

The routing and the grubbing. 
The Blacks, confound them ! were as black as ever ! 

In fact, in his perennial speech. 
The Chairman owned the Niggers did not bleach, 
As he had hoped, ^ 

From being washed and soaped, 
A circumstance he named with grief and pity ; 
But still he had the happiness to say. 
For self and the Committee, 
By persevering in the present way, 
And scrubbing at the Blacks from day to day. 
Although he could not promise perfect white, 
From certain symptoms that had come to light, 
He hoped in time to get them gray ! 



A BLACK JOB. 411) 

Lulled by this vague assurance, 

The friends and patrons of the sable tribe 

Continued to subscribe, 
And waited, waited on with much endurance — 
Many a frugal sister, thrifty daughter — 
Many a stinted widow, pinching mother — 
With income by the tax made somewhat shorter; 
Still paid implicitly her crown per quarter, 
Only to hear, as every year came round, 
That My. Treasurer had spent her pound : 
And as she loved her sable brother. 
That Mr. Treasurer must have another ! 

But, spite of pounds or guineas, 

Instead of giving any hint. 

Of turning to a neutral tint, 
The plaguy Negroes and their piccaninnies 
Were still the color of the bird that caws — 

Only some very aged souls, 
Showing a little gray upon their polls, 
Like daws ! 

However, nothing dashed 

By such repeated failures, or abashed, 

The Court still met ; — the Chairman and Directors, 
The Secretary, good at pen and ink. 
The worthy Treasurer, who kept the chink, 
And all the cash Collectors ; 

With hundreds of that class, so kindly credulous, 
Without whose help no charlatan alive 
Or Bubble Company could hope to thrive, 

Or busy Chevalier, however sedulous — 

Those good and easy innocents, in fact. 
Who, willingly receiving chaff for corn, 

As pointed out by Butler's tact, 

29 



450 A BLACK JOB. 

Still find a secret pleasure in the act 
Of being plucked and shorn ! 

However, in long hundreds there they were, 
Thronging the hot, and close, and dusty court, 
To hear once more addresses from the Chair, 

And regular Report. 
Alas ! concluding in the usual strain, 

That what with everlasting wear and tear; 

The scrubbing-brushes had n't got a hair — 
The brooms ■■ — mere stumps — would never serve again — 
The soap was gone, the flannels all in shreds, 

The towels worn to threads, 
The tubs and pails too shattered to be mended — 

And what was added with a deal of pain, 

But as accounts correctly would explain. 
Though thirty thousand pounds had been expended — 

The Blackamoors had still been washed in vain ! 

' ' In fact, the Negroes were as black as ink, 

Yet, still as thv Committee dared to think, 

And hoped the ^Proposition was not rash, 

A rather free exjenditure of cash — " 

But ere the prospv>ct could be made more sunny — 

Up jumped a lit.le, lemon-colored man. 

And with an eagvr stammer, thus began. 
In angry earnest, though it sounded funny : 
'' What ! More substriptions ! No — no — no, — not I ' 
You have had time — time — time enough to try ! 
They won't come white! then why — why — why — why 
— why. 

More money ? '' 

" Why ! " said the Chairman, with an accent bland, 
And gentle waving of his dexter hand, 
* Why must we have more dross, and dirt, and dust, 



ODE TO RAE WILSON, ESQUIRE. 451 

More filthy lucre, in a word more gold — 

The why, sir, xery easily is told, 
Because Humanity declares we must ! 
VV^e 've scrubbed the Negroes till we 've nearly killed 'em, 

And, finding that we cannot wash them white, 

JBut still their nigritude oiFends the sight, 
We mean to gild 'em / " 



ODE TO RAE WILSON, ESQUIRE. 

*' Close, close your eyes with holy dread, 
And weave a circle round him thrice ; 
For he on honey-dew hath fed. 
And drunk the milk of Paradise ! " — Colebidge. 

" It 's very hard them kind of men 
Won't let a body be." — Old Ballad. 

A WANDERER, Wilsou, from my native land, 
Remote, Rae, from godliness and thee, 
Where rolls between us the eternal sea. 
Besides some furlongs of a foreign sand, — 
Beyond the broadest Scotch of London Wall ; 
Beyond the loudest Saint that has a call ; 
Across the wavy waste between us stretched, 
A friendly missive warns me of a stricture, 
Wherein my likeness you have darkly etched. 
And thoudi I have not seen the shadow sketched, 
Thus I remark prophetic on the picture. 

I guess the features : — in a line to paint 

Their moral ugliness, I 'm not a saint. 

Not one of those self- constituted saints. 

Quacks — not physicians — in the cure of souls, 

Censors who sniff out moral taints. 

And call the devil over his own coals — 

Those pseudo Privy Councillors of God, 

Who w rite down judgments with a pen hard-nibbod ; 



452 ODE TO RAE WILSON, ESQUIRE. 

Ushers of Beelzebub's Black Rod, 
Commending sinners not to ice thick-ribbed, 
But endless flames, to scorch them like flax, — ■ 
Yet sure of heaven themselves, as if they'd cubbed 
The impression of St. Peter's keys in wax ! 

Of such a character no single trace 

Exists, I know, in my fictitious lace ; 

There wants a certain cast about the eye ; 

A certain lifting of the nose's tip ; 

A certain curhng of the nether lip, 

In scorn of all that is, beneath the sky ; 

In brief, it is an aspect deleterious, 

A face decidedly not serious, 

A face profane, that would not do at all 

To make a face at Exeter Hall, — 

That Hall where bigots rant, and cant, and pray, 

And laud each other face to face. 

Till every farthing-candle ray 

Conceives itself a great gas-light of grace ! 

Well ! — be the graceless lineaments confest ! 
I do enjoy this bounteous beauteous earth ; 

And dote upon a jest 
''Within the limits of becoming mirth; " — 
No solemn sanctimonious face I pull, 
Nor think I 'm pious when I 'm only bilious — 
Nor study in my sanctum supercilious 
To frame a Sabbath Bill or forge a Bull. 
I pray for grace — repent each sinful act — 
Peruse, but underneath the rose, my Bible ; 
And love my neighbor, far too well, in fact, 
. To call and twit him witli a godly tract 
That 's turned by application to a libel. 
My heart ferments not with the bigot's leaven, 
All creeds I view with tolcj-ation thorough. 



ODE TO RAB WILSON, ESQUIRR. 453 

And have a horror of regarding heaven 

As anybody's rotten borough. 

What else ? No part I take in party fi'ay. 

With tropes from Billingsgate's slang-whanging Tartars. 

I fear no Pope — and let great Ernest play 

At Fox and Goose with Fox's Martyrs ! 

I own I laugli at over-righteous men, 

I ow^n I shake my sides at ranters. 

And treat sham Abr'am saints with wicked banters^ 

I even own, that there are times — but then 

It 's Avhen I 've got my wine — I say d canters ! 

I 've no ambition to enact the spy 

On fellow-souls, a spiritual Pry — 

'T is said that people ought to guard their noses 

Who thrust them into matters none of theirs : 

And, though no delicacy discomposes 

Your saint, yet I consider faith and prayers 

Amongst the privatest of men's affairs. 

I do not hash the Gospel in my books, 
And thus upon the public mind intrude it, 
As if I thought, like Otaheitan cooks, 
No food was fit to eat till I liad chewed it. 

On Bible stilts I don't affect to stalk; 

Nor lard with Scripture my familiar talk, — 

For man may pious texts repeat. 
And yet religion have no inward seat; 
'Tis not so plain as the old Hill of Howth, 
A man has got his belly full of meat 
Because he talks wuth victuals in his mouth ! 

Mere verbiai<;e, — it is not worth a carrot ' 
Why Socrates or Plato — where 's the odds? — 



454 ODL TO RAE WILSON, ESQUIRE. 

Onqe taught a Jaj to supplicate the gods, 
And made a Polly- tbeist of a Parrot ! 

A mere professor, spite of all his cant, is 
Not a whit better than a Mantis, — 
An insect, of what clime I can't determine. 
That lifts its paws most parson-like, and thence, 
By simple savages — through sheer pretence — 
Is reckoned quite a saint amongst the vermin. 
But where 's the reverence, or where the 7ious, 
To ride on one's religion through the lobby, 

Whether as stalking-horse or hobby, 
To show its pious paces to " the house." 

I honestly confess that I would hinder 
The Scottish member's legislative rigs, 

That spiritual Pindar, 
Who looks on erring souls as straying pigs, 
That must be lashed by laAv, wherever found. 
And driven to church as to the parish pound. 
I do confess, without reserve or wheedle, 
I view that grovelling idea as one 
Worthy some parish clerk's ambitious son, 
A charity-boy who longs to be a beadle. 
On such a vital topic sure 'tis odd 
How much a man can differ from his neighbor ; 
One wishes worship freely given to God, 
Another wants to make it statute-labor — 
The broad distinction in a line to draw, 
As means to lead us to the skies above, 
You sav — Sir Andrew and his love of law. 
And T — the Saviour with his law of love. 

Spontaneously to God should tend the soul, 
Like the magnetic needle to the Pole: 



ODE TO RAE WILSOM, ESQUIRE. 455 

But what were that intrinsic virtue worth, 

Suppose some fellow, with m')re zeal than knowledge^ 

Fresh from St. Andrew's college, 
Should nail the conscious needle to the north '? 
I do confess that I abhor and shrink 
From schemes, with a religious willj-nilly^ 
That frown upon St. Giles's sins, but blinl 
The peccadilloes of all Piccadilly — 
Mj soul revolts at such bare hypocrisy, 
And will not, dare not, fancy ia accord 
The Lord of Hosts with an exrJasive lore 
Of this world's aristocracy. 
It will not own a notion so uuholy, 
As thinking that the rich by odsj trips 
May go to heaven, wherer.:s the poor and lowly 
Must work their passage, as they do in ships. 

One place there is — beneath the burial -sod, 
Where all mankind are equalized by death ; 
Another place there is — the Fane of God, 
Where all are equal who draw living breath ; — 
Jugorle who will elsewhere with his own soul, 
Playing the Judas Avith a temporal dole — 
He who can come beneath that awful cope, 
In the dread presence of a Maker just, 
Who metes to every pinch of human dust 
One even measure of immortal hope — 
He who can stand within that holy door, 
With soul unbowed by that pure spirit-level, 
And frame unequal laws for rich and poor, — 
Might sit for Hell, and represent the Devil ! 

Such are th<^ solemn sentiments. Rae, 

In your last journey-work, perchance, you ravage, 

Seeming, but in more courtly terms, to say 

I 'm but a heedless, creedless, godless, savage : 



156 ODE TO RAE WILSON, ESQUIRK. 

A very Guy, deserving fire and fagots, — 

A scoffer, always on the grin. 
And sadly given to the mortal sin 
Of liking Mawworms less than merry maggots ! 

The humble records of my life to search, 

1 have not herded with mere pagan beasts : 

But sometimes I have "sat at good men's feasts," 

And I have been ' ' where bells have knolled to church ' 

Dear bells ! how^ sweet the sound of village bells 

When on the undulating air they swim ! 

Now loud as welcomes ! faint, now, as farewells ! 

And trembling all about the breezy dells, 

As fluttered by the wings of Cherubim. 

Meanwhile the bees are chanting a low hymn ; 

And lost to sight the ecstatic lark above 

Sings, like a soul beatified, of love, 

With, now and then, the coo of the wild pigeon : — 

pagans, heathens, infidels, and doubters ! 

If such sweet sounds can't woo you to religion, 

Will the harsh voices of church cads and touters 7 

A man may cry Church ! Church ! at every word, 
With no more piety than other people — 
A daw 's not reckoned a religious bird 
Because it keeps a-cawing from a steeple ; 
The Temple is a good, a holy place, 
But quacking only gives it an ill savor ; 
While saintly mountebanks the porch disgrace, 
A.nd bring religion's self into disfavor ! 

Behold yon servitor of God and Mammon, 
Who, binding up his Bible with his ledger, 

Blends Gospel texts w^ith trading gammon, 
A black-leg saint, a spiritual hedger, 



ODE TO RAE WILSON, E3QUIRR 457 

Who backs his rigid Sabbath, so to speak, 
Against the wicked remnant of the week, 
A saving bet against his sinful bias — 
•' Rogue that I am," he whispers to himself 
''I lie — I cheat — do anything for pelf, 
But who on earth can say I am not pious ! " 

In proof how over-righteousness reacts. 

Accept an anecdote well based on facts ; 

On Sunday morning — (at the day don't fret) — 

In ridino; with a friend to Ponder' s End 

Outside the stage, we happened to commend 

A cei-tain mansion that we saw To Let. 

''Ay," cried our coachman, with our talk to grapple, 

"You 're right ! no house along the road comes nigh it, 

'T was built by the same man as built yon chapel, 
And master wanted once to buy it, — 

But t' other driv the bargain much too liard, — 
He axed sure-/y a sum prodigious ! 

But being so particular religious, 

Why, tJiat^ you see, put master on his guard ! " 
Church is • " a little heaven below, 
I have been there and still would go," — 

Yet I am none of those who think it odd 

A man can pray unbidden from the cassock, 
And, passing by the customary hassock, 

JCneel down remote upon the simple sod, 

And sue in forma pauperis to God. 

As for the rest, — intolerant to none, 
Whatever shape the pious rite may bear, 
Even the poor pagan's homage to the sun 
I would not harshly scorn, lest even there 
I spurned some elements of Christian pi'ayer 



158 ODE TO RAE WILSON, ESQUIRE. 

An aim, though erring, at a "world ayont*' — 
Acknowledgment of good — of man's futility, 
A sense of need, and weakness, and indeed 
That very thing so many Chiistians want — 

Humility. 

Such, unto Papists, Jews or Turbaned Turks, 
Such is my spirit — (I don't mean my wraith !) 
Such, may it please you, is my humble faith ; 
I know, full well, you do not like my works ! 

I have not sought, 't is true, the Holy Land, 
As full of texts as Cuddie Hedrigg's mother, 

The Bible in one hand. 
And my own commonplace-book in the other — 
But you have been to Palestine — alas ! 
Some minds improve by travel — others, rathePj 

Resemble copper wire or brass. 
Which gets the narrower by going further ! 

Worthless are all such pilgrimages — very ! 
If Palmers at the Holy Tomb contrive 
The human heats and rancor to revive 
That at the Sepulchre they ought to bury. 
A sorry sight it is to rest the eye on, 
To see a Christian creature graze at Sion, 
Then homeward, of the saintly pasture full, 
Rush bellowinsj. and breathino; fire and smoke, 
At crippled Papistry to butt and poke, 
Exactly as a skittish Scottish bull 
Haunts an old woman in a scarlet cloak. 

Why leave a serious, moral, pious home, 
Scotland, renowned for sanctitv of old, 
Far distant Catholics to rate and scold 
For — doing as the Romans do at Rome I 



ODE TO BAE WILSON, ESQUIRE. 459 

vV^ith such a bristling spirit wherefore quit 
The Land of Cakes for any land of wafers, 
xA^bout the graceless images to flit, 
And buzz and chafe importunate as chafers, 
Longing to carve the carvers to Scotch collops'? — 
People who hold such absolute opinions 
Should stay at home in Protestant dominions, 
Not travel like male Mrs. Trollopes. 

Gifted with noble tendency to climb, 
Yet weak at the same time, 
Faith is a kind of parasitic plant, 
That grasps the nearest stem with tendril rings ; 
And as the climate and the soil may grant. 
So is the sort of tree to which it clings. 
Consider, then, before, like Hurlothrumbo, 
You aim your club at any creed on earth. 
That, by the simple accident of birth, 
you mio-ht have been Hif^-h Priest to Mumbo Jumbo 

o o 

For me — through heathen ignorance perchance. 

Not having knelt in Palestine, — I feel 

None of that griffinish excess of zeal. 

Some travellers would blaze with here in France. 

Dolls I can see in Virgin-like array, 

Nor for a scuffle with the idols hanker 

Like crazy Quixotte at the puppet's play, 

If their " offence be rank," should mine be rancor 7 

Mild, light, and by degrees, should be the plan 
To cure the dark and erring mind ; 
But who would rush at a benighted man, 
And give him two black eyes for being blind ? 

Suppose the tender but luxuriant hop 
Around a cankered stem should twine. 



460 ODE TC RAE WILSON, ESQUIRE. 

What Kentish boor would tear away the prop 
So roughly as to wound, na;^, kill the bine 7 

The images, 't is true, are strangely dressed, 
With gauds and toys extremely out of season ; 
The carving nothing of the very best. 
The whole repugnant to the eye of Reason, 
Shocking to Taste, and to Fine Arts a treason — 
Yet ne'er overlook in bigotry of sect 
One truly Catholic^ one common form, 

At Avhich unchecked 
All Christian hearts may kindle or keep warm. 

Say, was it to my spirit's gain or loss, 
One bright and balmy morning, as I went 
NFrom Liege's lovely environs to Ghent, 
If hard by the wayside I found a cross, 
That made me breathe a prayer upon the spot — 
While Nature of herself, as if to trace 
The emblem's use, had trailed around its base 
The blue significant Forget-Me-Not 7 
Methought, the claims of Charity to urge 
More forcibly along with Faith and Hope, 
The pious choice had pitched upon the verge 

Of a delicious slope, 
Giving the eye much variegated scope ! — 
'' Look round," it whispered, '' on that prospect rare, 
Those vales so verdant, and those hills so blue ; 
Enjoy the sunny world, so fresh, and fair, 
But " — (how the simple legend pierced me through !) 

'^Priez pour les Malheoreux." 

Witli sweet kind natures, as in honeyed cells, 

Religion lives, and feels herself at home ; 

But only on a formal visit dwells 

Where wasps instead of bees have formed the comb. 



ODE TO RAE WILSOX, ESQUIRE. 461 

Shun pride, Rae ! — -whatever sort beside 
You take in lieu, shun spiritual pride ! 
A pride there is of rank — a pride of birth, 
A pride of learning, and a pride of purse, 
A London pride — in short, there be on earth 
A host of prides, some better and some worse ; 
But of all prides, since Lucifer's attaint, 
The proudest swells a self-elected Saint. 

To picture that cold pride so harsh and hard, 
Fancj a peacock in a poultry-yard. 
Behold him in conceited circles sail, 
Strutting and dancing, and now planted stiff, 
Li all his pomp of pageantry, as if 
He felt " the eyes of Europe " on his tail ! 
As for the humble breed retained by man. 
He scorns the whole domestic clan — 

He bows, he bridles, 

He wheels, he sidles, 
As last, with stately dodgings in a corner. 
He pens a simple russet hen, to scorn her 
Full in the blaze of his resplendent fan ! 

'' Look here," he cries, (to give him words,) 

" Thou feathered clay, — thou scum of birds ! '* 
Flirting the rustling plumage in her eyes, — 

"Look here, thou vile predestined sinner, 

Doomed to be roasted for a dinner, 
Behold these lovely variegated dyes ! 
These are the rainbow colors of the skies, 
That heaven has shed upon me con amore — 
A Bird of Paradise ? — a pretty story ! 
/ am that Saintly Fowl, thou paltry chick ! 

Look at my crown of glory ! 
Thou dingy, dirty, dabbled, draggled jill ! " 



462 ODE TO RAE WILSON, ESQLIRE. 

Aiid oft' goes Paitlett, wriggling from a kick, 
With bleeding scalp laid open by his bill ! 

That little simile exactly paints 
How sinners are despised by saints. 
By saints ! — the Hypocrites that ope heaven's door 
Obsequious to the sinful man of riches — 
But put the wicked, naked, bare-legged poor, 
In parish stocks, instead of breeches. 

The Saints ? — the Bigots that in public spout, 
Spread phosphorus of zeal on scraps of fustian, 
And go like walking "Lucifers" about 
Mere living bundles of combustion. 

The Saints ! — the aping Fanatics that talk 
All cant and rant and rhapsodies high flown — 

That bid you balk 

A Sunday walk, 
And shun God's work as you should shun your own. 

The Saints ! — the Formalists, the extra pious. 
Who think the mortal husk can save the soul, 
By trundling, with a mere mechanic bias, 
To church, just like a lignum- vitse bowl ! 

The Saints ! — the Pharisees, whose beadle stands 

Beside a stern coercive kirk, 

A piece of human mason-work. 
Calling all sermons contrabands, 
In that great Temple that 's not made with hands ! 

Thrice blessed, rather, is the man with whom 
The gracious prodigality of nature, 
The balm, the bliss, the beauty, and the bloom, 
The bounteous providence in every feature, 
Recall the good Creator to his creature. 
Making all earth a fane, all heaven its dome ! 



ODE TO RAE WILSON, ESQUIHE. 463 

To his tuned spirit the wild heather-bells 

Rino; Sabbath knells ; 
The jubilate of the soaring lark 

Is chant of clerk ; 
For Choir, the thrush and the gregarious linnet ; 
The sod ''s a cushion for his pious want ; 
And, consecrated by the heaven within it, 
The skj-blue pool, a font. 
Each cloud-capped mountain is a holy altar ; 

An organ breathes in every grove ; 

And the full heart 's a Psalter, 
Rich in deep hymns of gratitude and love ! 

Sufficiently by stern necessitarians 

Poor Nature, with her face begrimed by dust, 

Is stoked, coked, smoked, and almost choked ; but must 

Religion have its own Utilitarians, 

Labelled with evangelical phylacteries. 

To make the road to heaven a railway trust. 

And churches — that's the naked fact — mere factories'] 

! simply open wide the temple door, 
And let the solemn, swelling organ greet. 

With Vohintaries meet. 
The vrilUng advent of the rich and poor ! 
And while to God the loud Hosannas soar, 
With rich vibrations from the vocal throng — 
From quiet shades that to the woods belong, 

And brooks with music of their own, 
Voices may come to swell the choral song 
With notes of praise they learned in musings lone 

How strange it is, while on all vital questions, 
That occupy the House and public mind, 
We always meet with some humane suggestions 
Of gentle measures of a healing kind, 



461 ODE TO RAE WILSON, ESQUIRE. 

Instead of harsh severity and vigor, 
The saint alone his preference retains 
For bills of penalties and pains, 
And marks Ins narrow code with legal rigor ! 
Why shun, as Avorthless of affiliation, 
What men of all political persuasion 
Extol — and even use upon occasion — 
That Christian principle, conciliation ? 
But possibly the men who make such fuss 
With Sunday pippins and old Trots infirm, 
Attach some other meaning to the term, 
As thus : 

One market morning, in my usual rambles, 
Passing along Whitechapel's ancient shambles, 
Where meat was hung in many a joint and quarter 
I had to halt a while, like other folks. 

To let a killing butcher coax 
A score of lambs and fatted sheep to slaughter. 
A sturdy man he looked to fell an ox, 
Bull-fronted, ruddy, with a formal streak 
Of well-greased hair down either cheek. 
As if he dee-dash — dee'd some other flocks 
Besides those woolly-headed stubborn blocks 
That stood before him, in vexatious huddle — 
Poor little lambs, with bleating wethers grouped, 
While, now and then, a thirsty creature stooped 
And meekly snuffed, but did not taste the puddle. 

Fierce barked the dog, and many a blow was dealt, 
That loin, and chump, arid scrag and saddle felt, 
Yet still, that fatal step they all declined it, — 
And shunned the tainted door as if they smelt 
Onions, mint-sauce, and lemon-juice behind it. 



ODE TO KAE WILSON, ESQUIRE. 465 

At last there came a, pause of brutal force ; 

The cur ^vas silent, for his jaws were full 

Of tangled locks of tarr j wool : 
The man had whooped and bellowed till dead hoarse, 
The time Vr'as ripe for mild expostulation, 
And thus it stammered from a stander-by — 
'' Zounds ! — my good fellow, — it quite makes me — why 
It really — my dear fellow — do just try 

Conciliation ! " 

Stringing his nerves like flint. 
The sturdy butcher seized upon the hint, — 
At least he seized upon the foremost wether, — 
And hugged and lugged and tugged him neck and crop 
Just nolens voJens through the open shop — 
If tails come off he didn't care a feather, — 
Then walking to the door, and smiling grim. 
He rubbed his forehead and his sleeve together — 

" There ! — I 've co/zciliated him ! " 

Again — good-humoredly to end our quarrel — 
(Good humor should prevail !) 
I '11 fit you with a tale 
Whereto is tied a moral. 

Once on a time a certain English lass 

Was seized with symptoms of such deep decline, 

Cough, hectic flushes, every evil sign, 

that, as their wont is at such desperate pass, 

The doctors gave her over — to an ass. 

Accordingly, the grisly Shade to bilk. 
Each morn the patient quaffed a frothy bowl 

Of assinine new milk, 
[lobbino; a sha;jni;y sucklin^i; of a foal 
Which got proportionably spare and skinny — 

30 



i66 A TABLE OF ERRATA. 

Meanwhile the neighbors cried " Poor Marj Ann ! 
She can't get over it ! she never can ! " 
When^ lo ! to prove each prophet was a ninnj, 
The one that died was the poor wet-nurse Jennj. 

To aggravate the case, 
There were but twc grown donkeys in the place ; 
And, most unluckily for Eve's sick daughter, 
The other long-eared creature was a male, 
Who never in his life had given a pail 

Of milk, or even chalk and water. 
No matter : at the usual hour of eight 
Down trots a donkey to the wicket-gate, 
With Mister Simon Gubbins on his back, — 
"Your sarvant, Miss, — a werry spring-like day, — 
Bad time for hasses, though ! good lack ! good lack ! 
Jenny be dead, Miss. — but I 'ze brought ye Jack, — 
He does n't give no milk — but he can bray." 

So runs the story, 

And, in vain self-glory. 
Some Saints would sneer at Gubbins for his blindness, 
But what the better are their pious saws 
To ailing souls, than dry hee-haws, 
Without the milk of human kindness ? 



-A TABLE OF ERRATA, 

(^Hostess loquitur.) 

Well ! thanks be to Heaven, 
The summons is given ; 
It 's only gone seven, 

And should have been six; 
There 's fine overdoing 
In roasting and stewing. 



A lAJiLE OF iCKRATA. 467 

And victuals past chewing 
To rags and to sticks ! 

How dreadfully chilly ! 
I shake, willy-nilly ; 
That John is so silly. 

And never will learn 
This plate is a cold one, 
That cloth is an old one, — 
I wish they had told one 

The lamp Avouldn't burn, 

Now then for some blunder 
For nerves to sink under : 
I never shall wonder, 

Whatever goes ill. 
That fish is a riddle ! 
It 's broke in the middle. 
A Turbot ! a fiddle ! 

It 's only a Brill ! 

It 's quite over-boiled too, 
The butter is oiled too, 
The soup is all spoiled too. 

It 's nothing but slop. 
The smelts looking flabby, 
The soles are as dabby, 
It all is so shabby 

That Cook shall not stop ! 

As sure as the morninor. 
She gets a month's warning. 
My orders for scorning — 
There 's nothing to eat! 
I hear such a rushmsr, 
I feel such a flushiuir. 



468 A TABLE OF ERRATA. 

I know I am blushing 
As red as a beet ! 

Friends flatter and flatter, 
I wish thej would chatter ; 
What can be the matter 

That nothing comes next \ 
How very unpleasant ! 
Lord ! there is the pheasant ! 
Not wanted at present, 

1 'm born to be vext ! 

The pudding brought on too, 
And aimmg at ton too ! 
And where is that John too, 

The plague that he is 7 
He 's oft' on some ramble : 
And there is Miss Campbell, 
Enjoying the scramble, 

Detestable Quiz ! 

The veal they all eye it, 
But no one will try it. 
An Ogre would shy it 

So ruddy as that I 
And as for the mutton, 
The cold dish it 's put on 
Converts to a button 

Each drop of the fat. 

The beef without mustard ! 
^ly fate 's to be flustered. 
And there comes the custard 

To eat with the hare ! 
Such flesh, fowl, and fishing, 
Such waiting and dishing, 



A TABLE OF EKKA'iA. 469 

I cannot help wishing 
A woman micfht swear ! 

dear ! did I ever — 
But no, I did never — 
Well, come, that is clever, 

To send up the brawn ! 
That cook, I could scold her, 
Gets worse as she ■ s older ; 

1 wonder who told her 

That woodcocks are drawn 1 

It 's really audacious ! 
I cannot look gracious ; 
Lord help the voracious 

That came for a cram ! 
There 's Alderman Fuller 
Gets duller and duller. 
Those fowls, by the color, 

Were boiled with the ham I 

Well, where is the curry 7 

I 'm all in a flurry. 

No, Cook 's in no hurry — 

A stoppage again ! 
And John makes it wider, 
A pretty provider ! 
By bringing up cider 

Instead of champagne I 

My troubles come faster ! 
There 's my lord and master 
Detects each disaster. 

And hardly can sit : 
He cannot help seeing, 



470 A TABLE OF ERRATA. 

All things disagreeing ; 
If he begins d — ing 
I'm off in a fit. 

This cooking ? — it's messing ! 
The spinach wants pressing, 
And salads in dressing 

Are best with good eggs. 
And John — jes, already — 
Has had something headj, 
That makes him unsteady 

In keeping his legs. 

How shall I get through it ? 
I never can do it, 
I'm quite looking to it, 

To sink by and by. 
! would I were dead now, 
Or up in my bed now, 
To cover my head now, 

And have a good cry. 



A EOW AT THE OXFORD ARMS. 
"Glorious Apollo from on high behold us."— Old SonO. 

As latterly I chanced to pass 
A Public House from which, alas ! 
The Arms of Oxford dangle ! 
My ear was startled by a din, 
That made me tremble in my skin, 
A dreadful hubbub from within, 
Of voices in a wrangle — 
Voices loud and voices high, 
With now and then a party-cry. 
Such as used in times gone by 



A ROW AT THE OXFORD ARMS. 471 

To scare the British border : 

When foes from North and South of Tweed 

Neighbors — and of Christian creed — 

Met in hate to fight and bleed, 

Upsetting Social Order. 

Surprised, I turned me to the crowd, 

Attracted by that tumult loud, 

And asked a gazer, beetle-browed. 

The cause of such disquiet. 

When, lo ! the solemn-looking man 

First shook his head on Burleigh's plan, 

And then, with fluent tono;ue, began 

His version of the riot : 
A row ! — why, yes, — a pretty row, you might hear from 

this to Garmany, 
And what is worse, it's all got up among the Sons of Har- 
mony, 
The more's the shame for them as used to be in time and tune, 
And all unite in chorus like the singing-birds in June ! 
Ah ! many a pleasant chant I've heard in passing here along. 
When Swiveller was President a-knocking down a song; 
But Dick's resigned the post, you see, and all them shouts 

and hollers 
Is 'cause two other candidates, some sort of larned scholars, 
Are squabbling to be Chairman of the Glorious ApoUers ! 
Lord knows their names, I'm sure I don't, no more than 

any yokel, 
But I never heard of either as connected w^ith the vocal ; 
Nay, some do say, although of course the public rumor varies. 
They've no more warble in them than a pair of hen canaries ; 
Though that might pass if they were dabs at t' other sort of 

thing, 
For a man may make a song, you know, although he cannot 



sing; 



472 A ROW AT Tllli OXFORD ARMS. 

But, loik ! it's many folks' belief they 're only ;rood at p^'opin*. 
.For Catiiacli sAvears he never sa^v^ a verse of their composing . 
And when a piece of poetry has stood its public trials, 
If pop'lar, it gets printed off at once in Seven Dials, 
And then about all sorts of streets, by every little monkey, 
[t 's chanted like the " Dog's Meat Man." or '' If I 'lad a 

Donkey." 
Whereas, as Mr. Catnach says, and not a bad judge neither, 
No ballad worth a ha'penny has ever come from either, 
And him as writ "Jim Crow," he says, and got such lots 

of dollars, 
Would make a better Chairman for the Glorious Apoliers. 

Howsomever that 's the meaning of the squabble that arouses 
This neighborhood, and quite disturbs all decent Heads of 

Houses, 
Who want to have their dinners and their parties, as is reason, 
In Christian peace and charity according to the sea.son. 
But from Number Thirty-Nine, since this eh'Ctioneering job, 
Ay, as far as Number Ninety, there 's an everlasting mob ; 
Till the thing is quite a nuisance, for no creature passes by, 
But he gets a card, a pamphlet, or a summut in his eye ; 
And a pretty noise there is ! — what Avith v^anvassers and 

spouters. 
For in course each side is furnished with its backei"s and its 

touters ; 
And surely among the Clergy to such pitches it is carried, 
You can hardly find a Parson to get buried or get married; 
Or supposing any accident that suddenly alarms, 
If you "re dying for a surgeon, you must fetch him from t)ia 

" Arms : " 
While the Schoolmasters and Tooters are ne<2;lectino; of theirj 

scholars, 
To write about a Chairman for the Glorious Appellors. 



A ROAV AT THE OXFORD ARMS. 473 

Well, that, sir, is the racket ; and the more the sin and shame 
Of them that help to stir it up, and propagate the same ; 
Instead of vocal ditties, and the social flowing cup, — 
But they'll be the House's ruin, or the shutting of it up, — 
With their riots and their hubbubs, like a garden full of bears. 
While they 've damaged many articles and broken lots of 

S(|uares, 
Au<l kept tlieir noble Club Room in a perfect dust am] 

smother, 
By tin-owing Morning Heralds^ Times, and Standards 

at each other ; 
Not to name the ugly language Gemmen ought n't to repeat, 
And the names they call each other — for I 've heard 'em 

in the street — 
Such as Traitors, Guys, and Judases, and Vipers, and what 

not. 
For Pasley and his divers an't so blowing-up a lot. 
And then such a^vful swearing ! — for there 's one of them 

that cusses 
Enough to shock the cads that hang on opposition 'busses ; 
For he cusses Qxarj member that's agin him at the poll, 
As I wouldn't cuss a donkey, though it hasn't got a soul; 
And he cusses all their families. Jack, Harry. Bob, or Jim, 
To the babby in the cradle, if they don't agree with him. 
Whereby, although as yet they have not took to use their fives, 
Or, according as the fashion is, to sticking with their knives, 
I 'm bcund there '11 be some milling yet, and shakings by 

the collars, 
Af)re they choose a Chairman for tlie Glorious Apollers ! 

To be sure, it is a pity to be blowing such a squall, 
Instead of clouds, and every man liis song, and then his call — 
And as if there was n't AVhigs enough and Tories to fall out, 
Besides politics in plenty for our splits to be about — 



474 A ROW AT TJIE OXFORD ARMS. 

Why, a corn-field is sufficient, sir. as anybody knows, 
Foi- to lurnisli tliem in plenty who are fond of picking crows — 
Not to name the Maynooth Catholics, and other Irish stews, 
To agitate society and loosen all its screws ; 
A.nd which all may be agreeable and proj>er to their spheres, — 
I)Ut it *s not the thing for musicals to set us by the ears. 
And as to College hjrning, my opinion for to broach, 
And I ' ve liad it from my cousin, and he driv a college coach. 
And so knows the University, and all as there belongs, 
.\nd he says that Oxford 's famouser for sausages than songs. 
And seldom turns a poet out like Hudson that can chant. 
As well as make such ditties as the Free and Easies want. 
Or other Tavern Melodists I can't just call to mind — 
But it 's not the classic system for to propagate the kind. 
Whereby it so may happen as that neither of them Scholars 
May be the proper Chairman for the Glorious A pollers. 

For my part in the matter, if so be I had a voice. 
It 's the best among the vocalists I 'd honor Avith the choice ; 
Or a poet as could furnish a new Ballad to the bunch ; 
Or, at any rate, the surest hand at mixing of tlie punch ; 
'Cause why, the members meet for that and other tuneful 

frolics — 
And not to say, like Muffincaps, their Catichiz and Collec'a. 
But you see them there Initerants that preach so long and loud 
And always take advantage like the prigs of any crowd, 
Have brought their jangling voices, and as far as they can 

compass. 
Have turned a tavern shindy to a scriouser rumpus, 
And liim as knows most hymns — although I can't see ho^v 

it follers — 
They want to be the Chairman of the Glorious Appollers .' 

Well, that's the row — and who can guess the upshot after all? 
Wl let her Harmony will ever make the '•' Arms *' her House 
of call. 



ETCHINQ MORALIZED. 475 

Or whether this here mobbing — as some longish heads fore- 
tell it, 
Will grow to such a riot that the Oxford Blues must quell it, 
Howsomever, for the present, there 's no sign of any peace, 
For the hubbub keeps a growing, and defies the New Police J 
But if I was in the Vestrj, and a leading sort of Man, 
Or a ]\Iember of the Vocals, to get backers for mj plan, 
Whj, I 'd settle all the squabble in the twinkle of a needle, 
For I'd have another candidate — and that's the Parish 

Beadle, 
Who makes such lots of Poetry, himself, or else by proxy, 
And no one never has no doubts about his orthodoxy ; 
Whereby — if folks was w^ise — instead of either of them 

Scholars, 
And strainino; tlieir own lunss alono; of contradictious hollers, 
They '11 lend their ears to reason, and take my advice as follers. 
Namely — Bumble for the Chairman of the Glorious Apollers ! 



ETCHING MORALIZED. 

TO A XOBLE LADT. 
" To point a moral." — Johnson, 

Fairest Lady and Noble, for once on a time, 
Condescend to accept,~in the humblest of rhyme, 

And a st/lo more of Gay than of Milton, 
A few oppd'tune verses designed to impart 
Some didactical hints in a Needlework Art, 

Not described by the Countess of Wilton. 

An Art noc unknown to the delicate hand 
Of the faiii^st and first in this insular land, 

But in Patronage Royal delighting ; 
And which now your own feminine fantasy wins, 
Thougli it scarce seems a lady-like work that begins 

In a scratching and ends in a biting ' 



476 ETCHING MORALIZED. 

Yet, ! that the dames of the Scandalous School 
Would but use the same acid, and sharp-pointed tool, 

That are plied in the said operations — 
! would that our Candors on copper would sketch ! 
For the first of all things in beginning to etch 

Are — good grounds for our representations. 

Those protective and delicate coatings of wax. 
Which are meant to resist the corrosive attacks 

That would ruin the copper completely ; 
Thin cerements which whoso remembers the Bee 
So applauded by Watts, the divine L.L.D., 

Will be careful to spread very neatly. 

For why '? like some intricate deed of the law, 
Should the ground in the process be left with a flaw, 

Aquafortis is far from a joker ; 
And attacking the part that no coating protects 
Will turn out as distressing to all your effects 

As a landlord who puts in a broker. 

Then carefully spread the conservative stuif, 
Until all the bright metal i^ covered enough 

To repel a destructive so active ; 
For in Etching, as well as in Morals, pray note 
That a little raw spot, or a hole in a coat, 

Your ascetics find vastly attractive. 

Thus the ground being laid, very even and flat, 
And then smoked with a taper, till black as a hat, 

Still from future disasters to screen it, 
• Just allow me, by way of precaution, to state, 
■^ Y'ou must hinder the footman from changing your pl(Ue 
Nor yet suffer the butler to clean it. 

Nay, the housemaid, perchance, in her passion to scrub, 
May suppose the dull metal in want of a rub. 



ETCHING! MORALIZED. 477 

Like the Shield which Swift's readers remember — 
Not to mention the chance of some other mishaps, 
Such as having jouv copper made up into caps 

To be worn on the First ot* September. 

But aloof from all damage by Betty or John, 
You secure the veiled surface, and trace thereupon 

The design you conceive the most proper : 
Yet gently, and not with a needle too keen, 
Lest it pierce to the wax through the paper between 

And of course play Old Scratch with the copper. 

So in worldly affairs, the sharp-practising man 
Is not always the one who succeeds in his plan, 

Witness Shy lock's judicial exposure ; 
Who, as keen as his knife, yet with agony found, 
That Avhile urging his j)ouit he was losing his groimd, 

And incurring a fatal disclosure. 

But, perhaps, without tracing at all, you may choose 
To indulge in some little extempore views. 

Like the older artistical people ; 
For example, a Corydon playing his pipe. 
In a Low Country marsh, with a Cow after Cuypj 

And a Goat skipping over a steeple. 

A wild Deer at a rivulet taking a sup, 
With a couple of Pilhirs put in to fill up, 

Like the columns of certain diurnals ; 
Or a very brisk sea, in a very stiff gale. 
And a very Dutch boat, witli a very big sail — • 

Or a bevy of Retzsch's Infernals. 

Architectural study — or rich Arabesque — 
Allegorical dream — or a view picturesque, 
Near to Naples, or Venice, or Florence ; 
Or "as harmless as lambs and as gentle as doves,*' 



178 ETCHING MORALIZED. 

A sweet family cluster of plump little Loves, 
Like the Children by Rcjaiolds or Lawrence, 

But whatever the subject, your exquisite taste 
Will insure a design very charming and chaste, 

Like yourself, full of nature and beauty — 
Yet besides the good pohits you already reveal. 
You Avill need a. few others — of well-tempered steel, 

And especially formed for the duty. 

For suppose that the tool be imperfectly set, . 

Over many weak lengths in your line you will fret, 

Like a pupil of Walton and Cotton 
Who remains by the brink of the water, agape, 
While the jack, trout, or barbel, effects its escape 

Through the gut or silk line being rotten. 

Therefore let the steel point be set truly and round, 
That the finest of strokes may be even and sound, 

Flowing glibly Avhere fancy would lead 'em. 
But, alas for. the needle that fetters the hand. 
And forbids even sketches of Liberty's land 

To be drawn with the requisite freedom ! 

! the botches I 've seen b}^ a tool of the sort, 
Rather hitching, than etching, and making, in short, 

Such stiff, crabbed, and angular scratches. 
That the figures seemed statues or mummies from tombs, 
While the trees were as rigid as bundles of brooms, 

And the herbage like bunches of matches ! 

The stiff clouds as if carefully ironed and starched, 
While a cast-iron bridge, meant for wooden, o'er-arched 

Something more like a road than a river. 
Prithee, who in such characteristics could see 
An}^ trace of the beautiful land of the free — 

The Free-Mason ~ Free-Trader — Free-Liver ! 



ETCHING MORALIZED. 



479 



But prepared by a hand that is skilful and nice, 
The fine point glides alung like a sk:ite on the ice, 

At the ^vill ol' the (jentlc Designer, 
Who impelling the needle just presses so much. 
That each line of her labor liie coj)j)er vuiy touch. 

As if done by a penny-a-liner. 

And, behold ! how the fast-growing images gleam ' 
Like the sparkles of gold in a sunshiny stream, 

Till, perplexed by the glittering issue, 
You repine for a light of a tenderer kind — 
And in choosing a substance for making a blind. 

Do not sneeze at the jmper called tissue. 

For, subdued by the sheet so transparent and white, 
Your design Avill appear in a soberer light. 

And reveal its defects on inspection, 
Just as Glory achieved, or political scheme. 
And some more of our dazzling performances, seem 

Not so bright on a cooler reflection. 

So the juvenile Poet with ecstasy views 

His first verses, and dreams that the songs of his Mus6 

Are as brilliant as Moore's and as tender — 
Till some critical sheet scans the faulty design, 
And, alas ! takes the shine out of every line 

That had formed such a vision of splendor. 

Certain objects, however, may come in your sketch, 
Which, designed by a hand unaccustomed to etch. 

With a luckless result may be branded , 
Wherefore add this p-.irticular rule to your code, 
Let all vehicles take the irron<r side of the road. 

And man, woman, and child, be left-handed. 

Yet regard not the awkward ap])earance with doubt, 
Bat remember how often mere blessinnis fall out. 



480 ETCHING MORALIZED. 

That at first seemed no better than curses ; 
So, till things take a turn, live in hope, and depend 
That ^vhatever is wrong will come right in the end, 

And console vou for ail vour i everses. 

But of errors why speak, w^hen for beauty and truth 
Your free, spirited Etching is worthy, in sooth, 

Of that Club (may all honor betide it !) 
Which, though dealing in copper, by genius and taste 
Has accomplished (i service of plate not disgraced 

By the work of a Goldsmith beside it ! * 

So your sketch superficially drawn on the plate 
It becomes you to fix in a permanent state, 

Which involves a precise operation, 
With a keen-biting fluid, which eating its ivay — 
As in other professions is common, they say — 

Has attained an artistical station. 

And it's !. that some splenetic folks I could name, 
If they 7nnst deal in acids, would use but the same 

In such innocent graphical labors ! 
In the place of the virulent spirit wherewith — 
Like the polecat, the weasel, and things of that kith — 

They keep biting the backs of their neighbors ! 

But beforehand, with wax or the shoemaker's pitch, 
You must build a neat dyke round the margin, in which 

You may pour the dilute aquafortis. 
For if raw, like a dram, it will shock you to trace 
Your design with a horrible froth on its face. 

Like a wretch in articulo mortis. 

Like a wretch in the pangs that too many endure, 
From the use of stroiig loaters, without any pure, 
A vile practice, most sad and improper ! 

*■ The Dej-crted Village, illustrated by the Etdiing Club. 



ETCHIXG MORALIZED. 48! 

For, trom painful exan.ples, this warning is found, 
That the raw burning spirit will take up the ground^ 
In the church-yard, as w(!ll as on copper ! 

But the Acid has duly been lowered, and bites 
Only just where the visible metal invites, 

Like a nature inclined to meet troubles ; 
And^ behold ! as each slender and glittering line 
Effervesces, you trace the completed design 

In an elegant bead- work of bubbles ! 

And yet, constantly, secretly, eating its way, 
The shrewd acid is making the substance its prey, 

Like sc?ne sorrow beyond inquisition. 
Which is gnawing the heart and the brain all the while 
That the face is illumed by its cheerfullest smile, 

And the wit is in bright ebullition. 

But still stealthily feeding, the treacherous stuff 
Has corroded and deepened some portions enough — 

The pure sky, and the water so placid — 
And, these tenderer tints to defend from attack, 
With some turpentine, varnisli, and sooty lampblack, 

You must stop out the ferreting acid. 

But before with the varnishing brush you proceed. 
Let the plate with cold water be thoroughly freed 

From the other less innocent liquor — 
After which, on whatever you want to protect, 
Put a coat that will act to that very effect, 

Like the black one that hano^s on the Vicar. 



o^ 



Then the varnish well dried — urge the biting again, 
But how long at its meal the ean forte may remain, 

Time and practice alone can determine : 
But of course not so long that the Mountain, and Mill 

31 



482 ETCHING MORALIZED. 

The rude Bridge, and the Figures, whatever you will, 
Are as black as the spots on your ermine. 

It is true, none the less, that a dark-looking scrap, 
With a sort of Bkckheath. and Black Forest, mayhap, 

is considered as rather Bembrandty ; 
And that very black cattle, and very black sheep, 
A black dog, and a shepherd as black as a sweep, 

Are the pets of some great Dilettante. 

So with certain designers, one needs not to name, 
All this life is a dark scene of sorrow and shame, 

From our birtli to our final adjourning — 
Yea, this excellent earth and its glories, alack ! 
What with ravens, palls, cottons, and devils, as black 

As a Warehouse for Family Mourning ! 

But before your own picture arrives at that pitch, 

While the lights are still light, and the shadows, though rich, 

Moj-e transparent than ebony shutters. 
Never minding what Black- Arted critics may say. 
Stop the biting, and pour the green fluid away, 

As you please, into bottles or gutters. 

Then removing; tlie o-round and tlie wax at a heat. 
Cleanse the surf ice Avith oil, spermaceti, or sweet — • 

For your hand a performance scarce proper — ■ . 
So some careful professional pei'son secure — 
For the Laundress will not be a safe amateur — 

To assist you in cleaning the copper. 

And, in truth, 'tis a rather unpleasantish job, 
, To be done on a hot German stove, or a hob — • 

Though as sure of an instant forgetting 
When — as after tlie dark clearing off of a storm — 
The fair landscape shines out in a lustre as warm 

As the glow of the sun in its setting ! 



ODE. 483 

Thus your Etching complete, it remains but to hint, 
That Avith certain assistance from paper and print. 

Which the proper Mechanic will settle, 
You may charm all your Friends — without any sad tale 
Of such perils and ills as beset Lady Sale — 

With a fine India Proof of your Met ah 



ODE 

ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF CLAPDAM ACADEMY. 

All me ! those old familiar bounds ! 
That classic house, those classic grounds, 

My pensive thought recalls ! 
What tender urchins now confine, 
AVhat little captives now repine, 

AVithin yon irksome walls 1 

Ay, that 's the very house ! I know 
Its ugly windows, ten a-row ! 

Its chimneys in the rear ! 
And there 's the iron rod so high, 
That drew the thunder from the sky 
And turned our table-beer ! 

There I was birched ! there I was bred I 
There like a little Adam fed 

From Learning's woful tree ! 
The weary tjisks I used to con ! — 
The hopeless leaves I wept upon ! — 

Most fruitless leaves to me ! — 

The summoned class ! — the awful bow ! ■ 
I wonder who is master now 

And wholesome anguish sheds ! 
How many ushers now employs, 



48i ODE. 

How many maids to see the boys 
Have nothing in their heads ! 

And Mrs. S * * * ? — Doth she abet 
(Like Pallas in the palour) yet 

Some favored two or three, — 
The little Crichtons of the hour, 
Her muffin-medals that devour, 

And swill her prize — bohea? 

Ay, there 's the playground ! there 's the lime. 
Beneath whose shade in summer's prime 

So wildly I have read ! — 
Who sits there noiv^ and skims the cream 
Of young. Romance, and weaves a dream 

Of Love and Cottage-bread 7 

Who struts the E-andall of the walk ? 
Who models tiny heads in chalk 7 

Who scoops the light canoe 7 
What early genius buds apace 7 
Where 's Poynter 7 Harris 7 Bowers ? Chase ? 

Hal Baylis 7 blithe Carew 7 

Alack ! they 're gone — a thousand ways! 
And some are serving in "the Greys," 

And some have perished young ! — ■ 
Jack Harris weds his second w^ife; 
Hal Baylis drives the wayne of life ; 

And blithe Carew — is hung! 

Grave Bowers teaches ABC 
To Savages at Owhyee ; 

Poor Chase is with the worms! — 
All, all are gone — the olden breed ! — 
New crops of mushroom boys succeed, 

" And push us from owx forms ! " 



I 



ODE. 485 

Lo ! Avlicre tliej scramble foi'th, and shout, 
And leap, and skip, and mob about, 

At play where we have played ! 
Some hop, some run, (some fall), some twine 
Their crony arms; some in the shine, 

And some are in the shade ! 

Lo there what mixed conditions run ! 
The orphan lad ; the widow's son ; 

And Fortune's favored care — 
The wealthy born, for whom she hath 
Macadamized the future path — 

The nabob's pampered heir ! 

Some brightly starred — some evil born, — 
For honor some, and some for scorn, — 

For fair or foul renown ! 
Good, bad, indifferent — none they lack ! 
Look, here 's a white, and there 's a black ! 

And there 's a Creole brown ! 

Some laugh and sing, some mope and weep, 
And wish their frugal sires would keep 

Their only sons at home ; — 
Some tease the future tense, and plan 
The full-frrown doini2;s of the man, 

And pant for years to come ! 

A foolish wish ! There 's one at hoop ; 
And four ni Jives ! and five who stoop 

The marble taw to speed I 
And one that curvets in and out, 
Reinino; his fellow-cob about, 

Would I were in his steed! 

Yet he would gladly halt and drop 
That boyish harness off, to swop 



486 ODE. 

With this world's heavy van — 
To toil, to tug. little fool ! 
While thou can be a horse at school 

To wish to be a man ! 

Perchance thou deem'st it were a thing 
To wear a crown, — to be a king ! 

And sleep on regal down ! 
Alas! thou know'st not kingly cares; 
Far happier is thy head that wears 

That hat without a crown ! 

And dost thou think that years acquire 
New added joys? Dost think thy sire 

More happy than his son? 
That manhood's mirth? — 0, go thy ways 
To Drury-lane when plays^ 

And see hoys forced our fun ! 

Thy taws are brave ! ^ thy tops are rare ! 
Our tops are spun with coils of care, 

Our (Lamps are no delight ! — 
The Elgin marbles are but tame, 
And 'tis at best a sorry game 

To fly the Muse's kite ! 

Our hearts are dough, our heels are lead; 
Our topmost joys fall dull and dead, 

Like balls with no rebound ! 
And often with a faded eye 
We look behind, and send a sigh 

Towards that merry ground ! 

Then be contented. Thou hast got 
The most of heaven in thy young lot" 
There's sky-blue in thy cup! 



A RETllOSPECTIVE REVIEW. 487 

Thou 'It find thy manhood all too fast — 
Soon come, soon gone ! and age at last 
A sorry breaking up I 



A RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW. 

0, WHEiY T was a tiny boy 

My days and uic^hts were full of joy, 

My mates were blithe and kind ! — 
No wonder that J sometimes sigh, 
And dash the tear-drop from my eye, 

To cast a look b^.hind ! 

A hoop was an eternal round 

Of pleasure. In those days I found 

A top a joyous thing : — 
But now those past delights I drop ; 
My head, alas ! is all my top. 

And careful thoughts the string ! 

My marbles, — once my bag was stor^ - 
Now I must play with Elgin's lord, 

With Theseus for a taw ! 
My playful horse has slipt his string \ 
Forgotten all his capering, 

And harnessed to the law ! 

My kite — how fast and far it flew ! 
Whilst I, a sort of Franklin, drew 

My pleasure from the sky ! 
'T was papered o'er with studious themes, 
The tasks I wrote — my present dreams 

Will never soar so high ! 

My joys are wingless all and dead ; 
My dumps are made of more than lead ; 



488 A RETROSPECTIVE REVIEW. 

My flights soon find a fall ; 
My fears prevail, my fancies droop, 
Joy never cometh with a hoop, 

And seldom with a call ! 

My football 's laid upon the shelf; 
I am a shuttlecock myself 

The world knocks to and fro ; — 
My archery is all unlearned, 
And grief against myself has turned 

My arrows and my bow ! 

No more in noontide sun I bask : 
My authorship 's an endless task, 

My head 's ne'er out of school : 
My heart is pained with scorn and slight, 
I have too many foes to fight, 

And friends grown strangely cool ! 

The very chum that shared my cake 
Holds out so cold a hand to shake, 

It makes me shrink and sigh : — 
On this I will not dwell and hang, 
The changeling would not feel a pang 

Though these should meet his eye ! 

No skies so blue or so serene 

As then ; — no leaves look half so green 

As clothed the play-ground tree ! 
All things I loved are altered so, 
Nor does it ease my heart to know 

That change resides in me ! 

0, for the garb that marked the boy, 
The trousers made of corduroy, 

Well inked with black and red ! 
The crownless hat, ne'er deemed an ill — 



A RETROril'ECTIVE REVIEW. 489 

It only let the sunshine still 
Repose upon my head ! 

0, for the riband round the neck ! 
The careless dog's-ears apt to deck 

My book and collar both ! 
How can this formal man be styled 
Merely an Alexandrine child, 

A boy of larger growth ? 

0, for that small, small beer anew ! 

And (lieaven's own type) that mild sky-blue 

That Avashed my sweet meals down ; 
The master even ! — and that small Turk 
That fagged me ! — worse is now my work — 

A fag for all the town ! 

0, for the lessons j earned by heart ! 
Ay, though the very birch's smart 

Should mark those hours again ; 
I 'd " kiss the rod," and be resigned 
Beneath the stroke, and even find 

Some sugar in the cane ! 

The Arabian Nights rehearsed in bed ! 
The Fairy Tales in school-time read, 

By stealth, 'twixt verb and noun ! 
The angel form that always walked 
In all my dreams, and looked and talked 

Exactly like Miss Brown ! 

The omne bene — Christmas come ! 
The prize of merit, won for home — 

Merit had prizes then ! • 
But now I write for days and days, 
For flime — a deal of empty praise, 

Without the silver pen ! 



490 TOWN AND COUNTRY. 

Then home, sweet home ! the crowded coach 
The joyous shout — the loud approach — - 

The wimliiig horns like rams' ! 
The meeting sweet that made me thrill, 
The sweet-meats almost sweeter still, 

No "satis " to the "jams! " — 

When that I was a tiny boy 

My days and nights were full of joy, 

My mates were blithe and kind ! 
No wonder that I sometimes sigh, 
And dash the tear-drop from my eye, 

To cast a look behind ! 



TOWN AND COUNTRY. 

AN ODE. 

! WELL may poets make a fuss 
In summer time, and sigh ••' O rus P^ 

Of London pleasures sick : 
My heart is all at pant to rest 
In Greenwood shades — my eyes detest 

This endless meal of brick ! 

What joy have I in June's return ? 
My feet are parched, my eyeballs burn, 

I scent no flowery gust : 
But faint the flagging zephyr springs. 
With dry Macadam on its wings, 

And turns me " dust to dust." 

My sun his daily course renews 
Due east, but with no Eastern dews ; 

The path is dry and hot ! 
His setting shows more tamely still, 



TOWN AND COUNTRY. 491 

He sinks behind no purple hill, 
But down a chimney's pot ! 

I but to hear the milkmaid blithe, 
Or early mower whet his scythe 

The dewy meads among ! — 
My grass is of that sort, alas ! 
That makes no hay — called sparrow-grass 

By folks of vulgar tongue ! 

! but to smell the -woodbines sweet ! 

1 think of cowslip cups — but meet 
With very vile rebuffs ! 

For meadow-buds I get a Avhiff 
Of Cheshire cheese, — or only sniff 
The 'turtle made at Cuffs. 

IIow tenderly Rousseau reviewed 
His periwinkles ! — mine are stewed ! 

My rose blooms on a gown ! — 
I hunt in vain for eglantine, 
And find my blue-bell on the sign 

That marks the Bell and Crown : 

Where are ye, birds ! that blithely wing 
From tree' to tree, and gayly sing 

Or mourn in thickets deep ? 
My cuckoo has some ware to sell. 
The watchman is my Philomel, 

My blackbird is a sweep ! 

Where are ye, linnet, lark, and thrush ! 
That perch on leafy bough and bush, 

And tune the various song ? 
Two hurdy-gurdists, and a poor 
Street-Handel grinding at my door, 

Are all my " tuneful throng.'* 



492 TOWN AND COUNTRY. 

Where are ye, early-purling streams, 
Whose waves reflect the morning beamSj 

And colors of the skies ? 
My rills are only puddle-drains 
From shambles, or reflect the staius 

Of calimanco-dyes ! 

Sweet are the little brooks that run 
O'er pebbles glancing in the sun, 

Sino-ino; in sooth ino; tones : — 
Not thus the city streamlets flow ; 
They make no music as they go, 

Though never " ofl* the stones.'^ 

Where are ye, pastoral pretty sheep, 
That wont to bleat, and frisk, and leap, 

Beside your woolly dams ? 
Alas ! instead of harmless crooks, 
My Corydons use iron hooks, 

And skin — not shear — the lambs. 

The pipe w^hereon, in olden day, 
The Arcadian herdsman used to play 

Sweetly, here soundeth not ; 
But merely breathes unAvholesome fumes, 
Meanwhile the city boor consumes 

The rank weed — '' piping hot." 



'o 



All rural things are vilely mocked, 
On every hand the sense is shocked, 

With objects hard to bear : 
Shades — vernal shades ! — where wine is sold .' 
And, for a turfy bank, behold 

An Ingram's rustic chair ! 

Where are ye, London meads and bowers, 
And gardens redolent of flowers 



LAMENT FOR THE DECLINE OF CHIVALRY. 403 

AYnerein the zephyr wons ! 
Alas ! Moor Fields are fields no more : 
See Ilatton's Garden bricked all o'er j 

And that bare wood — St. John's. 

No pastoral scenes procure me peace ; 
I hold no Leasowes in my lease. 

No cot set round with trees : 
No sheep-white hill my dwelling flanks ; 
And omnium furnishes my banks 

With brokers — not with bees 

! well may poets make a fuss 

In summer time, and sigh " O riis ! " 

Of city pleasures sick : 
My heart is all at pant to rest 
In greenwood shades — my eyes detest 

That endless meal of brick ! 



LAIklENT FOR THE DECLINE OF CIITVALRY. 

Well hast thou cried, departed Burke, 
All chivalrous romantic w^ork 

Is ended now and past ! — 
That iron age — which some have thought 
Of mettle rather overwrought — 

Is now all overcast ! 

Ay ! where are those heroic knights 
Of old — those armadillo wights 

AVho wore the plated vest? -- 
Great Charlemagne and all his peers 
Are cold — enjoying with their spears 

An everlasting rest ! 



494 LAMENT FOR THE DECLINE OF CHIVALRY. 

The bold King Arthur sleepeth sound ; 
So sleep his knights who gave that Round 

Old Table such eclat ! 
0, Time has plucked the plumy brow 1 
And none engage at Turney's now 

But those that go to law ! 

Grim John o' Gaunt is quite gone by, 
And Guy is nothing but a Guy, 

Orlando lies forlorn ! — 
Bold Sidney, and his kidney — nay, 
Those "early champions " — what are they 

But knights without a morn. 

No Percy branch now perseveres - 
Like those of old in breaking spears — 

The name is now a lie ! — 
' Surgeons, alone, by any chance, 
Are all that ever couch a lance 

To couch a body's eye ! 

Alas for Lion-Hearted Dick, 
That cut the Moslems to the quick, 

Ilis Aveapon lies in peace : 
0, it would warm them in a trice, 
If they could only have a spice 

Of his old mace in Greece ! 

The famed Rinaldo lies a-cold, 
And Tancred too, and Godfrey bold, 

That scaled the holy wall ! 
No Saracen meets Paladin, 
We hear of no great Saladln, 

But only grow the small ! 

Our Cr-essys, too, have dwindled since 
To penny things — at our Black Prince 



LAMENT FOR THE DECLINE OF CHIVALRY. 

Historic ptns would scoff: 
The only one we moderns had 
Was nothing but a Sandwich lad, 

And measles took him off! 

Where are those old and feudal clans, 
Their pikes, and bills, and partisans, 

Their hauberks, jerkins, buffs? 
A battle was a battle then, 
A breathing piece of work ; but men 

Fight now — with powder puffs. 

The curtal-axe is out of date ; 

The good old cross-bow bends — to Fate ; 

'T is gone, the archer's craft I 
No tough arm bends the springing yew, 
And jolly draymen ride, in lieu 

Of Death, upon the shaft ! 

The spear, the gallant tilter's pride. 
The rusty spear, is laid aside, — 

0, spits now domineer ! 
The coat of mail is left alone, — 
And where is all chain armor gone ? 

Go ask a Brighton Pier. 

We fight in ropes, and not in lists. 
Bestowing handcuffs with our fists, 

A low and vulsjar art ! 
No mounted man is overthrown : 
A tilt ! it is a thing unknown — 

Except upon a cart ! 

Methinks I see the bounding barb, 
Clad like his chief in steely garb. 

For warding steel's appliance 
Methinks I hear the trumpet stir ! 



495 



496 DOMESTIC ASIDES. 

'T ia but the guard f^ Exeter, 

That bugles the " JDe^anoe-'^ 

In cavils 'when will cavaliers 
Bet ringing helmets by the ears. 

And scatter plumes about? 
Or blood — if they are in the vein ? 
That tap will never run again — 

Alas ! the Casfjiie is out ! 

No iron-crackling now is scored 
Bv dint of battle-axe or sword, 

To find a vital place — 
Though certain doctors still pretend, 
A while, before ihey kill a friend, 

To i-abor through his case ! , 

FareAvell, then, ancient men of might I 
Crusader, errant-squire, and knight \ 

Our coaia and custom soften, 
To rise would only mnke you weep — 
Sleep on. in rusty-iron sleep, • 

As in a safety coffin ! 



DOMESTIC ASIDES; 

OR, TRUTH IN PARENTHESES. 

'•* I REALLY take it very kind, 

This visit, Mrs. Skinner! 
I have not seen you such an age — 

(The wretch has come to dinner \j 



DOMESTIC ASIDES. 497 

" Your daughters, too, what loves of girls — 

What heads for painters' easels ! 
Come here, and kiss the infant, dears — 

(And give it p'rhaps the measles !) 

" Your charming boys, I see, are home 

From Reverend Mr. Russell's ; 
'T was very kind to bring them both — 

(What boots for my new Brussels I) 

" What ! little Clara left at home ! 

Well, now, I call that shabby ; 
I should have loved to kiss her so — 

(A flabby, dabby, babby I) 

" And Mr. S., I hope he 's well ; 

Ah ! though he lives so liandy, 
He never now drops in to sup — 

(The better for our brandy !) 

'' Come, take a seat — I long to hear 

About Matilda's marriage ; 
You're come, of course, to spend the day— 

(Thank Heaven I hear the carriage !) 

*' What ! must you go ? next time, I Lope, 

You'll give me longer measure ; 
Nay — I shall see you down the stairs — - 

(With most uncommon pleasure !) 

*' Good-bye! good-bye! remember all, 
Next time you'll take your dinners ! 

(Now, David, mind I'm not at home, 
In future to the Skinners 1") 

32 



NOTES 



Lycds, the Centaur. 

" Lycus, the Centaur," said a not unfriendly reviewer, " though 
containing several fine ideas, is, for the most part, beyond our com- 
prehension. We know not what it resembles, except the incoherent 
record of a dream inspired by a night-mare." It appeared originally 
in the London Magazine for August, 1822. 

The Two Peacocks of Bedfont. 
Appended to this tale in the London Magazine for October, 1822, 
is the following note : " If any man, in his unbelief, should doubt 
the truth and manner of this occurrence, he may in an easy way be 
assured thereof to his satisfaction, by going to Bedfont, a journey of 
6ome thirteen miles, where, in the church-yard, he may with his 
own eyes behold the two peacocks. They seem at first sight to be 
of yew-tree, which they greatly resemble; but, on drawing nearer, 
he will perceive, cut therein, the date 1704, being, without doubt, the 
year of their transformation." 

The Two Swans. 

First printed in Campbell's New Monthly Magazine for February, 

1824. 

The Dream of Eugene Aram. 

This remarkable poem appeared in the Oem annual for 1829, edited 
for that year only by the author. Appended was the following note : 
" The late Admiral Burney went to school at an estabhshment where 
the unhappy Eugene Aram was usher, subsequent to his crime. The 
admiral stated that Aram was generally liked by the boys, and that he 
used to discourse to them about murder in somewhat of the spirit that 
is attributed to him in the poem." The admiral was a friend of Charles 



500 NOTES. 

Lamb's, and it Avas doubtless from a conversation with him at Lamb's 
house that Hood became first impressed with the subject that he has 
treated with such singular felicity. 

" In good old age," says Talfourd, sketching the old set who were 
Lamb's Temple guests, "departed Admiral Burney, frank-hearted 
voyager with Captain Cook round the world, who seemed to unite 
our society with the circle over which Dr. Johnson reigned ; who 
used to tell of school-days under the tutelage of Eugene Aram ; how 
he remembered the gentle usher pacing the play-ground arm-in-arm 
with some one of the elder boys, and seeking relief from the unsus- 
pected burden of his conscience by talking of strange murders, and 
how he, a child, had shuddered at the handcuffs on his teacher's 
hands when taken away in the post-chaise to prison; the admiral 
being himself the center of a Httle circle which his sister, the famous 
authoress of Evelina, Cecilia and Camilla, sometimes graced." 

Eugene Aram was born at Eamsgill, in Yorkshire, in 1704, and 
was executed on the 6th of August, 1759, for the murder of Daniel 
Clark, a shoemaker. This murder remained undetected for some 
fourteen years, when a skeleton was dug up near Knaresborough, 
which created suspicions that led to the sudden arrest of Aram and 
his conviction of the crime. Aram meanwhile had been pursuing liis 
avocation of an usher, and his studies in heraldry, botany, and the 
languages, with untiring zeal and perseverance. Intimations had 
been frequently thrown out by his wife that Aram and a man 
named Housemann were privy to Clark's disappearance. House- 
mann testified before the coroner that Aram and one Ferry were the 
murderers, and that the body had been buried in St. Robert's cave, 
near Knaresborough. The skeleton was discovered in the place indi- 
cated, and the guilt of Aram established on his trial by circumstantial 
evidence that seemed conclusive. He conducted his own defense 
with great ingenuity and self-command. After condemnation he con- 
fessed his guilt to his attending clergyman, but declared that House- 
mann's share in the murder was larger than he ac;knowledged, and 
such was the public impression produced- by the trial. The motive 
was supposed to be plunder, but Aram declared that he was insti- 
gated solely by jealousy, as he suspected Clark of having made love to 
his wife. On the night before the execution he attempted suicide. 

A correspondent of the London Literary Gazette (14th January, 
1832) states that the skull of Eugene Aram was adventurously re- 



NOTES. 501 

moved from the iron hoop which bound it to the gibbet on which it 
was exposed, by a physician of Knaresboroiigh, who desired to en- 
rich his museum with an unique specimen. The trophy remained a 
long time in the possession of thi? virtuoso, and on his death fell into 
the hands of a gentleman in the neighborhood, distinguished for his 
scientific and literary attainments. In the year 1817 this gentleman 
submitted it to the judgment of Dr. Spurzheim, without communicating 
its history. The doctor pronounced it the skull of a woman, or of a 
man whose mind had entered mto a female habitation. " The female," 
he said, " had a good share of common sense, without being able to 
reason deeply ; she was pleased with witty, amusing and superstitious 
stories, and fond of theatrical performances. She had strong feelings 
without great hope — a great deal of vanity, attacliment, and personal 
courage ; she might have been able to commit an error to please those 
whom she liked. Example was to her particularly important ; she 
was not indifferent as to sexual intercourse, — was more easily guided 
by soft means and flattering treatment than by command, which re- 
volted her feelings, and would induce her to have recourse to des- 
perate means." 

Spurzheim was informed that the skull was that of a male. He 
thereupon transmitted a letter (unfortunately, lost) full of curious re- 
marks upon the skulls of the different great famihes or tribes of man- 
kind, and pronounced Aram's skull to resemble that of a Celt. Aram 
himself boasts of his Celtic blood. It is odd enough that he should 
in his defense have spoken of the difficulty of distinguishing male 
from female bones. Another circumstance alluded to by Aram in his 
defense, the escape of the prisoner, double-ironed, from York Castle, 
was only cleared up a few years ago by the discovery of a skeleton 
in irons between the outer and inner walls of the prison, where he 
had doubtless fallen and perished. 

The tradition of Aram's character at Lynn, in Norfolk, represents 
him as a man of loneliness and mystery, sullen and reserved, but until 
his apprehension of a reputation entirely unexceptionable. On holi- 
days and when his duties would allow he strayed solitary and cheer- 
less, as if to avoid the world, amongst the flat, uninteresting marshes 
which are situated on the opposite side of the river Ouse. The spot 
just at the entrance to the play-ground, at which Aram was taken 
into custody by two strange men from Yorkshire, is stiU remarked and 
pointed out by the school boys. 



502 NOTES. 



The Elm Tree: A Dream is the Woods. 
This was one of the later poems of the author, appearing in the 
New Monthly Magazine, then under his editorial supervision, in 1842. 

The Haunted House. 
First published in Hood's Magazine for January, 1844. 

The Bridge of Sighs. 
From Hood's Magazine for May, 1844. 

The Song of the Shirt. 
It has been stated that the original manuscript of the Song of the 
Shirt is now in the autograph collection of a gentleman of New York. 
It is wholly in Hood's writing, and has in the center the round 
mark caused by its being put on the file as " copy" in the printing 
office of Punch, in which journal it appeared in December, 1843. It 
came to its present possessor directly from Mark Lemon, editor of 
Punch, Five guineas was the price paid for the contribution. 

The Lady's Dream, 
From HoodJs Magazine, February, 1844. 

The Workhouse Clock. 
From Hoods Magazine for April, 1844. 

Miscellaneous Poems, pp. 159-228. 
Many of these minor poems were originally published in the Lon- 
don Magazine : among them Fair Ines, The Departure of Summer, 
Autumn, Hymn to the Sun, To a Cold Beauty, The Sea of Death, 
and a number of the Sonnets. The favorite song / Remember, I 
Remember, first appeared in Friendship's Offering for 1826 ; the Ode 
to the Moon in Blackwood's Magazine. All these were reprinted in 
the author's first volume of poems, published in 1827. In the same 
■volume appeared the Ode to Melancholy, perhaps the most remark- 
able of his serious poems, so plaintive, so fuU of melody, so rich in 
imagery, so infused with the poetical element of the author's char- 
acter and disposition. There is nothing that Hood has written which 
so opens the inner sanctuary of his nature — so lays bare his heart of 
hearts. This ode may rank with the odes of Collins, and is of itself 
sufficient to establish a poet's fame. 



NOTES. 508 

The Death Bed was the author's only poetical communication to 
the .Englishman's Magazine, a journal started by Moxon on the de- 
cline of the London, but which Uved only half a year. The Key 
appeared in Hood's Magazine for March, 1844. From the Ballad on 
page 217, two stanzas were omitted by the author, which have since 
been published : 

What else could peer thy glowing cheek, 

That tears began to stud ? 
And when I asked the like of love, 

You snatched a damask bud; 

And oped it to the dainty core, 

Still glowing to the last, — 
It was the Time of Roses, 

We pluck' d them as we pass'd 1 

Miss Kilmansegg and her Precious Leg, p. 231. 
Prom the Neio Monthly Magazine, 1840. 

A Tale of a Trumpet, p. 307. 

From the. New Monthly Magazine, 1841. 

The following curious passage is quoted for the benefit of such 
Readers as are afflicted, like Dame Spearing, with Deafness, and one 
of its concomitants, a singing or ringing in the head. The extract is 
taken from " Quid pro Quo ; or A Theory of Compensation. By 
P. S." (perhaps Peter Shard), folio edition. 

" Soe tenderly kind and gratious is Nature, our Mother, that She sel- 
dom or never puts upon us any Grievaunce without making Us Some 
Amends, which, if not a full and perfect Equivalent, is yet a great 
Solace or Salve to the Sore. As is notably displaid in the Case of 
such of our Fellow Creatures as undergoe the Loss of Ileering, and 
are thereby deprived of the Comfort and Entertainment of Natural 
Sounds. In lew whereof the Deaf Man, as testified by mine own 
Experience, is regaled with an inward Music that is not vouchsafed 
unto a person who hath the Complete Usage of his Ears. For note, 
t jat the Selfsame Condition of Boddy Avhich is most apt to brittg on 
u Surdity, — namely, a general Relaxing of the delicate and Subtile 
Pibres of the Human Nerves, and mainly such as belong and pro- 
pingue to the Auricular Organ, this very Unbracing which silences 



NOTES. 

tlic Tympanum, or drum, is the most instrumental Cause in producing 
f) Consort in the head. And, in particular, that affection which the 
Physitians have called Tinnitus, by reason of its Eesemblance to a 
Hing of- Bells. The Absence of which, as a National Musick, would 
be a sore Loss and Discomfort to any Native of the Low Countryes, 
where the Steeples and Church-Towers with their Carillons maintain 
an almost endlesse Tingle ; seeing that before one quarterly Chime of 
the Cloke hath well ended, another must by Time's Command strike 
lip its Tune. On which Account, together with its manye waterish 
Swamps and Marshes, the Land of Flandres is said by the Wits to 
be Einging Wet. Such Campariulary Noises would alsoe be heavily 
mist and lamented by the Inhabitants of that Ringing Island de- 
scribed by Eabelais in his Works as a Place constantly filled with a 
Corybantick Jingle Jangle of great, middle-sized, and little Bells; 
wherewith the People seem to be as much charmed as a Swarm of 
Bees with the Clanking of brazen Kettles and Pans. And which 
Einging Island cannot of a " surety be Barbadoes, as certain Authors 
have supposed, but rather oar own tintinnabulary Island of Britain, 
where formerly a Saxon could not soe much as quench a Fire or a 
Candle but to the tune of a Bell. And even to this day, next to the 
Mother Tongue, the one mostly used is in a Mouth of Mettal, and 
withal so loosely^ hung, that it must needs wag at all Times and on 
all Topicks. For your English Man is a Mighty Einger, and besides 
furnishing Bells to a Bellfry, doth hang them at the Head of his 
Horse, and at the Neck of his Sheep, on the Cap of his Fool, and on 
the Heels of his Hawk. And truly I have known more than one 
amongst my Country Men, who would undertake more Travel, and 
Cost besides, to heer a Peal of G-randsires, tlian they would bestow 
to look upon a generation of Grandchildren. But alake ! all these 
Bells with the huge Muscovite, and Great Tom of Lincoln to boot, 
be but as Dumb BeUs to the Deaf Man : wherefore, as I said. Nature 
kindly steps in with a Compensation, to wit, a Tinnitus, and converts 
his own Head into a Bellfry, whence he hath Peals enow, and what 
is more, without having to pay the Eingers." 

The Forge, p. 342. 
From the New Monthhj MxgazinSj 1843. 

Faithless Sally Brown, p. 359. 
Published in the first series of Wliims and Oddities^ with the fol- 
lowing introduction. 



NOTES, 505 

" I have never been vainer of any verses than of ray part in the 
following Ballad. Dr. Watts, amongst evangelical nurses, has an 
enviable renown — and Campbell's Ballads enjoy a snug, genteel pop- 
ularity. ' Sally Brown' has been favored, perhaps, with as wide a 
patronage as the Moral Songs, though its circle may not have been 
of so select a class as the friends of ' Hohenhnden.' But I do not 
desire to see it amongst what are called Elegant Extracts. The la- 
mented Emery, drest as Tom Tug, sang it at his last mortal Benefit 
at Convent G-arden ; — and, ever since, it has been a great favorite 
with the watermen of Thames, who time their oars to it, as the 
wherry-men of Yenice time theirs to the lines of Tasso. With the 
watermen, it went naturally to Yauxliall: — and, over land, to Sad- 
ler's Wells, The Guards, not the mail coach, but the Life G-uards, — 
picked it out from a fluttering hundred of others — all going to one 
air — against the dead wall at Knightsbridge. Cheap Printers of 
Shoe Lane, and Cowcross, (all pirates !) disputed about the Copyright, 
and published their own editions, — and, in the meantime, the Au- 
thors, to have made bread of their song, (it was poor old Homer's 
hard ancient case !) must have sung it about the streets. Such is the 
lot of Literature ! the profits of ^ Sally Brown' were divided by 
the Ballad Mongers : — ^it has cost, but has never brought me, a half- 
penny." 

An Open Question, p. 437. 

There is an anecdote of a Scotch Professor, who happened during 
a Sunday walk to be hammering at a geological specimen which he 
had picked up, when a peasant gravely accosted him, and said very 
seriously, ^' Eh ! Sir, you think you are only breaking a stone, but 
you are breaking the Sabbath." 

In a similar spirit, some of our over-righteous sectarians are fond 
of attributing all breakage to the same cause — from the smashing of 
a parish lamp up to the fracture of a human skull — the " breaking 
into the bloody house of life," or the breaking into a brick-built 
dwelling. They all originate in the breaking of the Sabbath. It is 
the source of every crime in the country — the parent of every ille- 
gitimate child in the parish. The picking of a pocket is ascribed to 
the picking of a daisy — the robbery on the highway to a stroll in 
the fields — i\\^ incendiary fire to a hot dinner — on Sunday. All 
other causes — the want of education — =the want of moral culture — 
the want of bread itself — are totally repudiated. The criminal him- 



NOTES. 

self is made to confess at the gallows that he owes his appearance 
on the scafifolJ to a walk with *' Sallj in our alley" on the " day that 
comes between a Saturday and Monday !" 

Supposing this theory to be correct, and made like the law " for 
every degree," the wonder of Captain Macheath that we haven't 
" better company at Tyburn tree" (now the New Drop) must be 
fully shared by every body who has visited the Eing in Hyde Park 
on the day in question. But how much greater must be the wonder 
of any person who has happened to reside, like myself, for a year or 
two in a Continental city, inhabited, according to the strict construc- 
tion of our Mawworms, by some fifteen or twenty thousands of 
habitual Sabbath-breakers, and yet, without hearing of murder and 
robbery as often as of blood-sausages and of dollars! A city where 
the Burgomaster himself must have come to a bad end, if a dance 
upon Sunday led so inevitably to a dance upon nothing 1 

The " Saints ** having set up this absolute dependence of crime on 
Sabbath-breaking, their relative proportions become a fair statistical 
question ; and, as such, the inquiry is seriously recommended to the 
rigid legislator, who acknowledges, indeed, that the Sabbath was 
" made for man," but, by a singular interpretation, conceives that the 
man for whom it was made is himself! — Hood. 

Ode to IIae Wilson, p. 451. 

This ode was first published in the London AtJienceum, where it 
appeared with the following introductory letter. 

" To the Editor oftlie Athenceum. 
" Mr DEAR Sir : The following Ode was written anticipating the 
tone of some strictures on my writings, by the gentleman to whom 
it is addressed. I have not seen his book ; but I know by hearsay 
that some of my verses are characterized as ' profaneness and 
ribaldry,' — citing, in proof, the description of a certain sow, from 
whose jaw a cabbage-sprout 

* Protruded as the dove so stanch 
For peace supports an olive-branch.* 

If the printed works of my Censor had not prepared me for any mis- 
application of types^ I should have been surprised by this misappre- 
hension of one of the commonest emblems. In some cases the dove 
unquestionably stands for the Divine Spirit; but the same bird Is 
also a lay representative of the peace of this world, and, as such, 



NOTES. 507 

has figured time out of mind in allegorical pictures. The sense in 
which it was used by me is plain from the context ; at least, it would 
be plain to any one but a fisher for faults, predisposed to carp at 
some things, to dab at others, and to flounder in all. But I am pos- 
sibly in error. It is the female swine, perhaps, that is profaned in 
the eyes of the Oriental tourist. Men find strange ways of marking 
their intolerance ; and the spirit is certainly strong enough, in Mr. 
W.'s works, to set up a creature as sacred, in sheer opposition to the 
Mussulman, with whom she is a beast of abomination. It would 
only be going the whole sow. 

** I am, dear sir, yours very truly, 

"Thos. Hood.» 



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